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[Amunet]

9th day, Winter, 515a.v.
19th Bell
River Flower

She was living on tea and toasted bread. There might be a little cheese or vegetable soup. It had to be soupy that was all she could stomach. The pain had subsided to a degree, but if she was out in light or pushed herself, the headaches returned. Those sky blue eyes were still tender. Still there was still work to be done. She sipped the tea and updated the medical records of recent births, injuries and treatments. The River Flower was mostly quiet so the doctors, assistants and other helpers were doing the innumerable amounts of work on details that keep the River Flower functioning.

Life with the River Flower has been a saving grace. Though it was pretty much most of what she did to cover her pain of being alone. That was what she did when hardship came about, work harder. Something makes her said, go to work. It was her coping mechanism. The cup went to her lips as she sipped it quietly, letting the herbal concoction go down her throat. Those eyes looked around. The young healer had to be careful of looking anyone directly in the eyes as she was getting weird looks. The sunbursts were startling and rather intriguing. One of the nurses said that it might be a trick of the light but they glimmered like gold dust. She did not tell anyone what had happened, only that bandits had chased her. The Watch had sent out webbers and patrols. Amunet did not know what happened to those bandits of rather the Watch got them or the Grass claimed them. Either way, no one lasted long alone in the Grass.

She moved from her seat picking up her tea and started to help the nurses with rolling bandages. There was different sizes for different reasons. Unbleached linen was the usual material and they were boiled well to both shrink and sanitize them. Her little fingers made for a tight roll as she tucked oneside, then the other side to form a little v, before she tightly tipped the end inward and formed the initial roll. The rest was a piece of cake as the bandage was rolled up methodically and tightly. The quiet and the rhythm of the rolling provided a nice meditative measure.

The girl thought on the new things she could see. The ribbons and sparkles that came in many colors. The girl didn’t know what the colors meant. Maybe she could start writing these things she noticed and at some point they have to make sense. Right? This brightened the red head up as the medicine worked on her headache. The grace of Rak’keli helped some but it didn’t solve everything. As with all things, it had a limit. That was another thing during this thoughtful meditation, the little impressions she gets now and again. Was the Goddess speaking to her? if she had her grace, she had a connection to the Goddess. The girl pondered on these details as she thought back each time she got an impression or something guided her to where the injury or sickness was at. These things she should be writing down also. The girl had little to no instruction on either of these things. Maybe this will come to her in time, meanwhile she did the work she was called to do.

[Azmere]

15th Bell

“What?!”

Azmere growled at the man. He signed some very unfriendly phrases but was starting to become beyond mad at this insolent man. He’d been preventing Azmere from moving past and on to the Watch. Now the fool was making faces! Azmere was feeling somewhat weird today and this waste of space was trying to be funny. Unamused and out of patience, the scarred man brought around his hand in such a way that it was merely a flash to the few spectators. Azmere smacked his opposition with a force that sent him crumbling down. To the watchman’s surprise, the rude man had a face as solid as a rock. Azmere looked at the back of his fist and could see a hazy outline of blood pooling beneath the surface of his skin. The purple outline didn’t seem too large so he went to move around the felled man. Just as he takes his first step, Azmere felt something make contact with his shin. It was sharp and abrasive and the lingering burn crept through the surrounding tissue. His gaze went from angry to blank in half a tick. Azmere hurled himself on the pile and felt like this man was wearing studded armor. Every time he hit this guy, every time he tried to get a good hold the young warrior found his foe one step ahead of him.

Two women stood with a toddler, a young girl and each held an infant. This little entourage leaned in close and watched the whole scene. The women whispered back and forth to each other as the scarred man rampaged on the fringe of their pavilion.

“Ooo! Do you think his wife knows he’s doing this?” The voice of the younger woman was a bit whiney but it might have been the nasally tones her vowels took.

“Pfft! He’s not married. That’s that Diamond boy with the scars.” The older woman’s voice was higher pitched than her younger counterpart but it was easier and more soothing to the ear.

The younger’s face drew out an invisible sound. “Not married with those arms? Hn. What’s wrong with him?” Her eyes followed Azmere as the bout raged onward. It was slowing down. Azmere stepped down and to the side and slid on his knee. His arms wrapped around the stubborn man, swept him off the ground and then flung him out into the grass. The watchman had scattered his opponent to the four winds of the Storm God with one glorious move. In the aftermath, Azmere rose and gave a sign of respect to the fallen. He had never been in a fight quite so brutal. Cuts, scraps, bruises and splinters covered his arms and chest but the young man would not be deterred. He marched onward as if it was just another day. In his departure, the young girl turned and looked at the two older women.

“Mommy, why did that man attack our wood pile?”

A sigh answered the little girl’s question followed by a whiney voice. “People are strange, baby. People are strange.”

*****

19th Bell

Azmere stumbled into The River Flower followed by two members of the Watch. The anger from earlier in the day was gone. The rage had been replaced by a cool, detached shell of a man. He swayed on his feet while staring at nothing kept in check only by the steady routine of pushes, shoves and holds provided by other watchmen. One of the men sidled around a sick kid. It was written all over the young man’s face that he did not like the concept of all the sick people being in one place. That’s not entirely fair; he loved the idea of it all so long as he was far away. After clearing away from more injured or sick folk, the watchman made it to the side of the tent where a group of women sat around a table rolling bandages and making other preparations that were useful to the staff. He wrung his left hand with his right and shrugged his shoulders as he intruded on their work.

“’’Scuse me.” He signed an apology and greeting. “Can someone tell us where we can put this man?” He indicated towards Azmere was propped up against a post and being balanced there by the other guard. Azmere’s eyes were rolling about as if he were drunk but he managed to stay fairly still. His shirt was soaked with blood from the wolf bite but he had dozens of little tears and scrapes and bruises from losing the battle against firewood. Some of the nurses just looked at him for a moment before one stood up. She was tall with dark hair and as she spoke out on her acceptance to the task, she dusted her dress off and straightened her apron. The young man signed a thank you and turned to head back to Azmere. He couldn’t get out of this place fast enough.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Amunet]

Amunet had looked up briefly at the man that was doing a decent imitation of becoming one with the pole. With the pole in the way she didn’t really see who it was. The Watch was always bringing one of their own, the diamond clan, some emerald hunter who’s prey had gotten a piece of them or someone with the cough considering the season. The red head paid it no mind as one of the assistants took charge of the patient to perform triage. Amunet got up to help the others put bandages at the various stations when the assistant came to her advising her that the man was in worse shape than was first thought to be scrapes and bruises.

The man had been taken to a curtained off room and was advised to lay down. For as sick as he was, he was a bit hostile to the idea. The sound of struggle as one of the assistants was trying to get the man to lay down had the red head running to the curtained off area. Her and the assistant who had went to get her as she was the on staff doctor this evening. When she finally saw who it was, the girl shifted gears as she got between him and who he struggled with as she looked into his eyes and put his face inbetween her hands firmly. “Azmere!! You’re at the River Flower, calm down, please.” The young healer implored with a look of concern that even in his addled state he may interpret of the amount of care she had. The dust of gold would gleam along with the ruby or emerald dusty gleam in his two respective eyes. She would direct the assistants to try and hold him down and tried to be where he could see her so the others wouldn’t get hurt.

At the touch of his skin she could feel he was burning up. Her thumb went expertly at the eyelid as she pulled it up and looked into his eyes as they were very dilated. “He is shocky and feverish. “ She looked him in the eyes again. “Azmere, it’s me, Amunet, you need to lay down, your very sick. “ The girl said in her soothing voice trying to calm him. Hoping he will connect her with the present to clear his mind for a moment or two till she can get a look at him and find out the cause of his issue, issues. There was a large amount of blood to his shirt.

If they could get him calmed down she would see if about asking him to get his shirt off, if not she would have to cut off the shirt. In either way she caught a glimpse as she pulled the shirt down as far as she could to get a precursory look at part of the wound. Her practiced nose smelt the slight off smell in the blood. It was infected for sure and the way those tears were it was likely going to be a bugger to sew up. The Healer had a pretty good idea that he was suffering from sepsis. Infection can produce toxins in the body that can cause drunken like behavior. It can also eventually kill a person. “Azmere, please, it will be well. “ She said softly as her little hand went to his face and with the knowledge that she had her gift started coursing from her touch to his body.

The gnosis sometimes had a mind of its own, but the knowledge of the healer had a way of guiding the gnosis. That was what she figured out through the ideas and whispers she would get. She didn’t want to be presumptuous to think the Goddess was speaking to her but that was what it felt like. The young woman listened. The girl watched his paleness change from a sickly pallor to a pinky pale. As the divine magic coursed from her hand to his wound the edges went from a sickly brown color to something resembling healthy flesh albeit torn. She took her dagger out in the attempt to cut his shirt away from his wound. There was a lot of work to do and he had lost a lot of blood. When he moved his arm she could see fresh blood seep out which meant he had been slowly bleeding out.

The little healer started issuing orders for astringents, bandages, a wound kit and her a scalpel. That was for starters. The minor wounds he had would have to wait if the gnosis hadn’t reached them. The gnosis sometimes had a mind of its own she noticed. Through some strange symbiotic relationship, the healing took place. Yes, it was a relationship with Rak’keli. She refocused her attention on the Man before her. He was a strange one at times, but he was kind and protective. In a world were kindness was an often hard commodity to come across it was nice to see. The cloth went into the water as the cool water laced with wintergreen astringent would gently lie on the wounded area once it was revealed.

[Azmere]

Azmere struggled using just his right arm to fend off the nuisance. Why this insolent being wouldn’t let him leave was beyond agitating and further complicating the issue was the matter of his weapons. Someone had taken them! The watchman raged and finally caught hold of the slender arm of the woman. He drew her in slowly until he could lean down and put his face almost against hers. In a voice that was something between thunder and hiss, he instructed her that if she wanted to keep her limb, she would return Vihar and his other possessions.

“I swear I don’t know who Vihar is and I haven’t taken anything from you!” The terror in her voice was subtle but present and Azmere surprised himself at how much he enjoyed hearing it. This gave him pause which allowed the chance the attendant needed to wriggle her arm free and step back to the curtain. It was then when more people entered the room. A rumble rattled the cavity of the man’s chest as he leveled his gaze to the new arrivals.

“Where are my things?! Bring them to and move as-“ His words were cut short when two small hands grabbed his face. He blinked and fought the instinct to bite or swing just long enough to actually see who was in front of him. The rage was pushed aside but far from absent. His body was on fire and the archer suspected it had much to do with his missing tools and recent confinement. He was about to react poorly to the situation, his right hand flying out to catch a fistful of red curls when the texture snapped his gaze to the eyes that pierced his own oblivious stare. It was hard to judge what went on in his mind but he loosened his grip on her curls though never truly let go. They simply curled around his fingers and tickled his arm. Her words never even registered with him but her touch seemed to cool his cheeks and sate some of the anger. He just stared at her seeing the stars in her eyes and thinking of how much pain he had been in from the transition. Epiphany.

Azmere tried to speak but found his voice had run away in search of some better purpose. The man broke the gaze of the little healer as if to search for his sound. He gently rubbed his fingers together allowing the curls to tickle what little bits of his hand that weren’t covered in callouses. The sensation seemed to remind him of something but he wasn’t sure what it was. Oddly enough, his gaze wandered in circles around the bursts within those cool blue orbs. He smiled his crooked smile as a wave washed over him. It was like someone had injected him with a medicine that universally treats everything. It was odd, however, to feel his mind wake up as if it had been subdued only to realize that his body was on the verge of collapse. His hand released her hair and reached back to grab the cot that he initially fought to avoid. He missed with his right hand and staggered back against it. In an instinctive reaction, his left arm shot out to catch his body bt the tiny pop that occurred just beneath his ear let him know that was a terrible idea even before the ripples of pain hit my like a line of angry bulls. One after the other drove the misery and blinding ache from his shoulder through his entire body. Azmere turned to see Amunet giving orders but staying close to him, her face riddled with concern.

Azmere heard her tell him everything would be ok. He felt comfortable around her. She was pleasant on their first encounter and now seeing the stars in her eyes, he longed to talk with her about what had happened. Had she met the assassin too? His mind swirled and then the curtains twisted as if they had a mind of their own. Confused, the watchman reached out again but missed Amunet. He dropped to one knee, caught his upper body with right hand on his knee and looked up at her. His face had taken on more color but the dehydration and exhaustion had caught hold of him and right before the big man passed out, Azmere stared at Amunet and signed with his right hand telling her that she has pretty eyes.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Amunet]

His hand in her hair gave her pause. The little healer knew he was strong and the passion within his eyes caught her breath for a moment or two. The strength of his anger and rage could rival the sun, but it was stayed by the wave of healing that coursed over him as another thing crossed those eyes. Recognition, curiosity, questions. The girl saw these flicker across his face. She tried to keep him from falling as he caught himself. The wound started bleeding more by his movements before he said how pretty her eyes were. The dust of rose across her cheeks was plain to see as the man summarily passed out. It was both a blessing and a curse.

The blessing came in that he would be easier to work on. The curse came as they had to carry his heavy behind up onto the cot. The little woman pondered the different colors in his eyes that were not there the last time she met him. They were in a burst pattern, different than her own, but they were there. The woman caught her breath as she got a couple of attendants to help her with the man. She rolled her neck a little as she got behind his back and slipped her arms beneath his armpits as she nodded and they group lifted the man. The lift with her legs was slow and steady as she kept her back straight. Fortunately it was a step or two to the cot as he was deposited. Amunet very gently let his head down onto the cot.

“Martha, I am going to need more clean water.” The assistant nodded as amunet got the shirt off. She got a good look at the wound or rather set of wounds. The water with wintergreen washed away the worst of it as she saw the teeth puncture wounds and the downward tear. The girl sighed as the ragged edges were going to be difficult. Martha had returned with more water and astringent. Martha set to get the boots off and work his pants off.

“oh nice.” The assistant smiled as she boldly looked at the man’s birthright.

Amunet head turned from her task as the woman was putting a sheet over his unmentionables. “Martha!!” she gasped as she blushed a bit more.

“What? He is single and there is no harm in noticing a good one. We see a lot of them, might as well.” The woman shrugged.

“Martha. The man is sick and we shouldn’t be… “ the girl blushed even more.

“Amunet, he is single and need I remind you, so are you. It would do you no harm to give thoughts to such things. “ Martha said playfully. “Girls your age have already had babies. “

“Martha, that’s just not going to happen right now. “ She huffed a sigh as this whole thing had her flustered. The way her reputation was socially, probably won’t happen if Pratal had his way. She looked at the man’s hips and followed a trail of splinters that went around his backside and to his behind. “How in the name of Rak’keli did he get splinters on his arse?” Her brow furrowed as she looked at Martha.

“You know. I’m not sure. The Watch said something about fighting a wood pile?” The woman spread her hands and shrugged her shoulders.

Amunet’s brow furrowed at this and shook her head. “Alright. Can you see if the watch can go to his Pavilion for clean clothes, please? “

Martha nodded as she left her The woman started cleaning the wound more. With the scalpel she cut away the dried and useless little spots so she had a good edges to bring together to stitch up. The girl looked for bleeders. Luckily, it wasn’t that an artery or vein was nicked, it just it constantly moved. The Archer may not like it but he was going to need to not move it for a few days. The wound was dusted with turmeric before she started to stitch it up. The girl took her time to follow muscle and skin tissue in the stitching. She made sure the stitches remained small and close together. With the last snip she looked at the stitches as it would scar but it would be in the shape of a claw it seemed. Men liked scars she thought as she put the ointment on top and put a clean cloth on it. The shoulder and upper arm was then bandaged as she put the arm across his chest loosely and bandaged it in place so he didn’t accidentally move that arm.

Now she needed to tend to those splinters. She got a small bowl and put it beside her and slid the sheet down a little. Martha’s words came to her as she carefully and as gentle as possible pulled splinters from his hips. The blush reentered her mind as she turned her head to look down. The girl did have to blink a little as the blush grew redder. The girl cleared her throat as she had to push the sheet further down. She leaned across his body to get to the splinters around to his behind. Focus on the splinters. That’s it.

[Azmere]

Azmere was out. Darkness. The inky black of nothingness filled his mind. However, there were random flashes of red and light as if lightning was tearing through his subconscious. In truth, it was the process of being pieced back together. Deep enough surges of pain through his nerves would occasionally penetrate the onyx quilt that covered his mind. He stirred back and forth for a moment and then would go still for several chimes. His eyelids danced about in fluttering motions like the wings of a moth on a cold morning. As the healer moved on to his splinter problem, the watchman woke up with a start but the restriction of his arm made him pause even as his eyes opened wide to absorb his situation. Glancing down, he caught her looking over his privates and the pale skin flushed with color. He cleared his throat and found he was very thirsty. His face displayed a puzzled look wondering what he should do with the compromised position in which he’d been placed. He signed for a drink but would never get it as several waves of red ink washed through his sight in rhythm with his heart beat and his head lolled lazily back against the cot. Azmere returned to his slumber that was due to the shock and exhaustion of his wounds.

While he was out and some time after Amunet had begun treatment, a watchman returned with a small woman who had intelligent eyes that were a bit bloodshot. Her cheeks were streaked indicting that she’d been passing tears across them. She stared to the little redhead with a patient expression but the older woman’s gaze fell to the body of the young man on the cot. Analia Stormblood was pretty in her own right but it was her expressions that tended to light up a room. Right now, she was shadowed by clouds as her only son lay asleep with bandages covering some very large areas on his body. Her thin arms were folded across her chest as white knuckles clung to a change of clothes for the archer. The watchman gave her a gentle push on her back and the woman took a few steps forward and sniffled briefly. She opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. She closed her mouth and took a few more steps forward gently resting her tiny fingers against the scars that covered Azmere’s face. The shapes she traced followed the lines of each rise and ripple letting the muscle memory from a thousand previous actions to guide her hand. Without looking to the redheaded healer, the small woman spoke in such a tiny voice that only Amunet and Azmere would be able to hear her and even then, not extremely well. “Will he be alright?”

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Amunet]

The body moved as she thought he woke up as she looked back. Her brow furrowed as she blushed further as his eyes looked at her. She went still for a tick or two as it wasn’t long before he passed back out. There was some relief that crossed her face. The relief was a mixed bag of not having to explain why she looked and that he needed to sleep to heal. Part of her wondered if the man ever let himself rest. What drove such a man? This question lessened the blush that had dusted her cheeks. The Healer finished getting the splinters out of his hip and behind before she drew the sheet up to his waist. She pulled watch as he would need looking after. In case, some infection returned she could purge it.

It was a few bells as she had already cleaned up and was bringing in a pitcher of water, a wash bowl, wintergreen astringent, wound ointment and a change of bandages. Amunet sat on the edge of the cot as she put a cool calm hand on his forehead. He seemed to be no fever. The attentive girl took a clean cloth, soaked it in water, wrung it out well and put it on the man’s forehead. She dabbed his forehead and face gently till the watchman at the curtain cleared his throat. Amunet turned her head to see the older woman come in. She stood up and moved away as the older lady came to Azmere. She seemed hesitant at first till the young woman observed how she regarded the scarred faced man. He must have been very close to the woman and the way her fingers trailed over the scar with little fear and the age the woman appeared, she seemed to be a doting aunt or even a mother. Amunet leaned towards mother the way her face focused in concerned. Her own mother would get that way when those close to her were sick.

Amunet offered to take the clothes from her so that she can place them to the side neatly. The Healer’s hand went to the slight shoulders of the woman as she seemed in anguish over her son. Amunet stood close to the woman as her hand would rub slowly and down gently on the woman’s back.

“Will he be alright?”

The woman asked this in the quietest of words. Amunet turned and softly in a comforting tone. “He will be alright. The infection has been purged. He has lost a lot of blood, but time, good food and good water will see him right.” The young healer moved towards where the bandage change was at. “It’s about time to change his bandages, if you want to help.”

The elegant and graceful hand motioned for the older woman to help her lift the heavy man’s torso to unwrap the bandages carefully. “I am Amunet Shimmerstone. Healer and Doctor for the River Flower." The young lady provided the introduction as those sky blue eyes anointed with gold dust bursts regarded the woman kindly. "We need to allow the wound to close properly. It is why his arm is restricted from moving.” Once the layer of bandages was removed, the covering cloth was carefully and slowly peeled up. There was a little seepage but it was mostly albumin and blood. The Healer smelled it carefully as it seemed to not hold any puss or foreign matter. The compulsion was also minimal. “It is looking good.”

The water was anointed with the astringent as she got a clean cloth and soaked it in the water. “Cool water is good as it will help with any inflammation. The wintergreen helps with any surface dirt and clean the wound. “ Amunet would lay the folded wet cloth on the stitched up wound and ever so carefully lift and press. The slow progress of cleaning the long stitched wound without pricking the stitches was done with a confident and caring hand. The redhead offered the elder woman a smile. She put the cloth to the side and picked up the jar of ointment. “This ointment helps promote healing and keep the scar is supple. Once the flesh has mended enough for him to move it, this will see about making sure it can stretch later. We have other ointments to help the scar tissue but most men like the scars. “ She shrugged at that truth.

The young woman put a cloth over the stitched wound and then started wrapping the cloth into place with bandages as a second layer. The arm was folded and bandaged into place to keep it from moving as the third layer. “I would like him to stay the night to make sure no infection returns, then he can recover at his pavilion with instructions. How are you holding up?” Her hand would rest on the woman’s shoulder once more once Azmere had been settled.

[Azmere]

Analia was quick to fall into step with the healer’s lead. The redhead was very easy to read in her intentions. There was a passion for helping the injured which seemed to radiate from her like a tangible aura which the concerned mother could feel in her heart. She smiled and did her best with her small arms to hold the dense body of her son aloft so bandages could be unwrapped. Misty grey eyes focused on the actions of Amunet. Her attentive detail to the treatment of something so simple as changing bandages instantly endeared the tiny girl to the older woman. A slight twist at the corners of her mouth revealed this should the strange gold-dusted blue eyes take notice. The maternal instincts felt pulled here to ask about Amunet’s experience. Had she and Azmere discussed the circumstances around the stars? Analia was not a shy woman and waited only until the unmarked Drykas had finished speaking before she posed the question.

“I noticed your eyes are similar to my boy’s.” Her voice was soft but held a firm undertone which implied an even stronger resolve to discover the truth. There was something in the way Analia watched Amunet that might make the younger healer self-conscious (even if she wasn’t sure why). “Did you meet the same woman that tried to kill Az?” The grey eyes honed in on Amunet’s expression.

While this was taking place, Azmere stirred slightly but did not wake. Amunet was placing the clean bandages and Analia rested her hand with a subtle grace against her son’s forehead. It was a motion she had always performed. It starts with a brush back with the side of her palm and as the sweep starts, her wrists rotates so that the backs of her fingers end up pushing the hair back from his face. This, by itself, took the stirring warrior and returned him to a docile state. A mother knows things and she had remembered hearing the story told of a bandit to her father by the young archer. Last season, Azmere had been checking traps when a ruffian accosted a young Drykas girl in the grass. This wayward soul was returned to the web by a well-placed arrow. Analia never questioned the choices her son made. Even when he was lost and rebellious following that Whiteblood kid around, Azmere’s mother only encouraged him to be better. Lost in thought, she completely forgot about Amunet and what was going on. It was just a mother and her child.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Amunet]

Amunet was enjoying the comraderie of the elder woman. They fell in an easy rhythm as they got Azmere’s bandages redressed and settled back down ever so gently. It was at that moment that she caught the woman looking at her with a deeper scrutiny. The girl wasn’t too sure as to why but left it to a mother’s right to do so. The blanket and sheet the little red head and placed half way up to his waist. Most Drykas men ran hot and the wound needed air in as much as his skin needed to breath. The young woman tidied up as she was asked that pertinent and pointed question by Analia that caught her off guard.

She tried and started a couple of times as it was still difficult to sift through much less describe. It was still painful in a lot of light or if she over worked as she tended to do. In the darkness the pain was less as she attempted to provide her own account. For a few ticks she wondered who would want Azmere dead? He was protective and strong. He was good and a solid man in her young eyes. Those light sky blue eyes shimmered with the gold dust dancing in their star pattern towards the mother. “I did not. The way it happened I am not sure I understand how, but it seems similar to Azmere’s. The man that I got it from I was trying to save from his wounds. “ She looked away and down to the ground as her voice became quieter and quieter in her recount she had yet to tell anyone. “The man died and I obtained this. It still hurts.” She admitted to the woman.

Amunet swallowed hard as she fidgeted with her hands for a chime or two before she absolutely had to find something to make busy. It was how she handled a lot of her nerves and emotional issues. You find work to do. It solved everything. The big man had stirred as she turned to him, but there was his mother with a tender touch that only a mother knows yet the girl watched her as those dusted star eyes softened. It was not too dissimilar to how she is with her little brother Drak. “Azmere is a good man to a troublesome girl. He will be fine after a couple of weeks of rest but he probably only allow himself three days. “ With that she shrugged and rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. “I have medicines that can make him rest.” The girl paused there and looked at his now restful face as her expression softened. “But that just wouldn’t be him.”

There was a soft chuckle there as she put a kind hand on Analia’s shoulder to comfort her as the elder woman comforted her son. The care taker needed as much care as they themselves often did not give into that. How well she knew that of herself. “Did you want any tea or something to drink?” The girl asked softly with gentle eyes.

[Azmere]

Analia listened to Amunet as she answered the question and then danced around in polite conversation. The orbs of endless concern looked down on the man asleep on the cot. The quiet words of a mother responded to Amunet but it was more like thinking out loud than conversing. “No, that wouldn’t be him.” The little healer was good at her work and this made the older woman smile. Little hands fidgeted for a chime until she stilled them in her lap on top of one another. Analia was a bit surprised that Amunet knew Azmere enough to say the things that she had. Most people don’t get a chance to learn about him. Scarred as a boy, he closed his life to the world in a way that allowed him absolute control over how he was seen and perceived. Her deep eyes met the gaze of Amunet when she offered tea. Her lips curled up in a pleased expression. She was inclined to accept the tea but looked down and shook her head. In truth the woman needed to be getting back to her father. Slowly, Analia rose to her feet. Her eyes never left Azmere. Amidst the scars, the bruises and the sun-kissed skin, a mother sees only the peaceful slumber of a child. She bent down and kissed his forehead holding her lips to him for several ticks before rising.

Azmere’s mother turned and bowed to the redhead. With shuffled feet, she started towards the flap that would let her leave the River Flower. Just before Analia was out of the room, she spun on her leather slippers and made several short strides to Amunet. Analia threw her arms around the girl’s neck and squeezed her very tightly. While Analia was not very tall, she was an inch or so above Amunet. The older woman had years of strength from a hard life in the grass and her embrace was a warm smothering sort that could take someone back to her childhood. It was nearly two chimes before Analia released the fiery-haired healer. With a polite smile, a peck on her son’s forehead and the mother was gone.

Some time later, the cot rocked back and forth as the warrior stirred. No one knows what sort of things go on in his mind but it was a struggle. A chime of this went on before Azmere’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings and quickly became defensive. He popped up and knocked the cot over. He drew his arms up in response to the noise and a sharp pain as well as a tight feeling surged from his shoulder. His right hand went up and felt the bandage. Azmere straightened and looked around then bent and picked up the cot and set it back on its legs. Awkward was a good way to describe the look on his face. The unscarred skin was blushed. Azmere looked down and blushed even more. He quickly wrapped himself up in the linen and looked around for his clothes.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze