Maea
The worst of all blessings
Grasping his arm gently between both her hands, Maea examined the scar. The light didn't exactly fade from her eyes, but the playful mockery evaporated like morning mist as the extent of the injury became clear. Given the nature of some abilities she had, Maea was familiar with cuts and self treatments, knew the resolve it took to turn a sharpened edge upon oneself - whether blade or needle hardly mattered, the pain was the same.
Tenderly, almost reverent, Maea traced a fingertip along the pale line. Followed its path down sun-kissed skin like she had to commit it to memory, only to claim his hand in both of hers. "Stitching your own wound - that's remarkable," she murmured. "I'm glad it wasn't worse, still – yeah. I'll be very careful." Of falling branches, of getting injured - of leaving the kind of marks on skin that might make his gut drop the way hers just had. At present, the only ones she did carry were the burns on her hands, wax-like as though half melted skin had solidified in erratic bumps and swirls. That she still had full range of motion and any feeling in her hands was a miracle, honestly.
Lifting her gaze up to meet the rich hazel green of his eyes, she smiled as she nodded. "I think it suits you, that kind of role. I hope you won't let the mistakes you made in the past bar you from continuing... Even if it's not as a dragoon in uniform, you're still perfectly capable of protecting and helping. Just look at all the way's you've helped me - and we've known each other for, what. Half a year, by now?" He'd saved her life twice, found a Vi's rose, showed her how it was possible to trust and accept aid even from relative strangers, been ready to take up a mantle of leadership together for the sake of a lovely region they both cared for - and put it down again, not because he didn't want it, but because it was the best thing for the people. Even without a title or a crown, in her eyes at least, these things already made him a Guardian. The genuine kind, who did what was right without being prompted or rewarded.
Tenderly, almost reverent, Maea traced a fingertip along the pale line. Followed its path down sun-kissed skin like she had to commit it to memory, only to claim his hand in both of hers. "Stitching your own wound - that's remarkable," she murmured. "I'm glad it wasn't worse, still – yeah. I'll be very careful." Of falling branches, of getting injured - of leaving the kind of marks on skin that might make his gut drop the way hers just had. At present, the only ones she did carry were the burns on her hands, wax-like as though half melted skin had solidified in erratic bumps and swirls. That she still had full range of motion and any feeling in her hands was a miracle, honestly.
Lifting her gaze up to meet the rich hazel green of his eyes, she smiled as she nodded. "I think it suits you, that kind of role. I hope you won't let the mistakes you made in the past bar you from continuing... Even if it's not as a dragoon in uniform, you're still perfectly capable of protecting and helping. Just look at all the way's you've helped me - and we've known each other for, what. Half a year, by now?" He'd saved her life twice, found a Vi's rose, showed her how it was possible to trust and accept aid even from relative strangers, been ready to take up a mantle of leadership together for the sake of a lovely region they both cared for - and put it down again, not because he didn't want it, but because it was the best thing for the people. Even without a title or a crown, in her eyes at least, these things already made him a Guardian. The genuine kind, who did what was right without being prompted or rewarded.
The most beautiful of curses
Base by Skylark
