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"Then lets get you cleaned up."
Zhol may have been at a loss for things to say, but at least when it came to Khara's injuries, he had a vague notion of what to do. Adjusting where he knelt, still keeping himself a respectful distance away, he grabbed his waterskin and a scrap of his now deconstructed shirt, and poured out enough water to dampen the cotton. Slow and deliberate, he gently reached for one of Khara's hands, holding it loosely enough that breaking free would be effortless. He turned her palm upwards, and softly began to dab at the scuffs and scrapes, teasing out the dirt and debris that he supposed must have been from the floor. That was a detail he didn't want to know; an added accuracy for the imagined mental playback that his mind was slowly torturing him with. The floor scrapes on her hands and knees meant only one thing, and conjured up visions of the loveless encounters he'd glimpsed and overheard back in the pavilions of Endrykas, of breeding at the stables, of animalistic urges and treatment far below what Khara deserved.
A twisted new thought crept into his mind, and turned Zhol's insides to ashes. These last seasons, he had been so careful not to risk forcing Khara into engaging in such acts with him; but he would never have treated her that way. He would have treated her with the gentleness and adoration that she was deserving of. That brought a new swell of anger: not just at what the other Avora had done, but at the way he had done it, the lack of respect, the lack of appreciation, the lack of understanding of just how precious Khara was. He hadn't merely taken advantage, he had taken her for granted, wasted an opportunity that Zhol would give almost anything for, just for a few moments of carnal gratification. It was a sick and twisted notion; but perhaps if Zhol had been the one, if he hadn't been so ungrateful towards the opportunity, if he hadn't wanted so badly for her to love him, then perhaps he could have saved her and spared her from all this.
He set the damp cloth aside and exchanged it for a longer, dry strip, gently wrapping the makeshift bandage around her wrist and the heel of her palm, a few loops hooked over her thumb for good measure, to help hold it all in place. He carefully fumbled with the ends, twisting them into a secure knot. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you," he said, barely louder than a breath.
"Then lets get you cleaned up."
Zhol may have been at a loss for things to say, but at least when it came to Khara's injuries, he had a vague notion of what to do. Adjusting where he knelt, still keeping himself a respectful distance away, he grabbed his waterskin and a scrap of his now deconstructed shirt, and poured out enough water to dampen the cotton. Slow and deliberate, he gently reached for one of Khara's hands, holding it loosely enough that breaking free would be effortless. He turned her palm upwards, and softly began to dab at the scuffs and scrapes, teasing out the dirt and debris that he supposed must have been from the floor. That was a detail he didn't want to know; an added accuracy for the imagined mental playback that his mind was slowly torturing him with. The floor scrapes on her hands and knees meant only one thing, and conjured up visions of the loveless encounters he'd glimpsed and overheard back in the pavilions of Endrykas, of breeding at the stables, of animalistic urges and treatment far below what Khara deserved.
A twisted new thought crept into his mind, and turned Zhol's insides to ashes. These last seasons, he had been so careful not to risk forcing Khara into engaging in such acts with him; but he would never have treated her that way. He would have treated her with the gentleness and adoration that she was deserving of. That brought a new swell of anger: not just at what the other Avora had done, but at the way he had done it, the lack of respect, the lack of appreciation, the lack of understanding of just how precious Khara was. He hadn't merely taken advantage, he had taken her for granted, wasted an opportunity that Zhol would give almost anything for, just for a few moments of carnal gratification. It was a sick and twisted notion; but perhaps if Zhol had been the one, if he hadn't been so ungrateful towards the opportunity, if he hadn't wanted so badly for her to love him, then perhaps he could have saved her and spared her from all this.
He set the damp cloth aside and exchanged it for a longer, dry strip, gently wrapping the makeshift bandage around her wrist and the heel of her palm, a few loops hooked over her thumb for good measure, to help hold it all in place. He carefully fumbled with the ends, twisting them into a secure knot. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you," he said, barely louder than a breath.
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
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This template was made by Khara, the letter Q, and the numbers 87 and 13.
