HARPER
A soft understanding hum leaves him. “You are both feeling the weight of trying to live up to lofty expectations. It’s a lot for both of you, especially so young.” Whether he means Seren or Umbra there is up to interpretation. After being with Phoebe, Harper has learned to be careful about calling them young. By his own modern standards they are scarcely adults, but he has had to come to terms with the fact that in Caido, they do not have the luxury of growing up slowly.
Harper gives a wry smile as Seren’s face smooths out into nothingness. It’s a tell unto itself, but he’s proud that she manages not to show her discomfort. His pride only flourished at her tentative answer. “Very good. So, if this was a different injury your first priority would be stopping the bleeding with pressure, clotting agents, or a tourniquet. With this one, determining stitches is the exact right step.” His praise is warm and encouraging, eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile as if he is not hurting at all.
“The palm is much deeper and more resilient than you think. The inner elbow and more delicate structures like what you’re thinking of would be found here,” and he gestures with his good hand to the knuckles, the joint of the wrist, and the fragile bones at the top of his hand. “It looks like I’ll need stitches here and here. No more than six I’d say.” Harper points out with a singular finger the deepest areas - dead center of his palm, and the back of his forearm where the rope had caught their descent. Seeking Seren’s eyes with his own, there’s a question in his gaze before he ventures to ask it. “Do you want to learn on me, or do you think you’d like to wait?” Refusing to use words like ‘not ready’ or ‘scared’, all too aware of the effect that could have on students eager to show their brave face. “I can walk you through them, or you can watch me do it myself.” Perhaps the options would make it easier for her.
Harper gives a wry smile as Seren’s face smooths out into nothingness. It’s a tell unto itself, but he’s proud that she manages not to show her discomfort. His pride only flourished at her tentative answer. “Very good. So, if this was a different injury your first priority would be stopping the bleeding with pressure, clotting agents, or a tourniquet. With this one, determining stitches is the exact right step.” His praise is warm and encouraging, eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile as if he is not hurting at all.
“The palm is much deeper and more resilient than you think. The inner elbow and more delicate structures like what you’re thinking of would be found here,” and he gestures with his good hand to the knuckles, the joint of the wrist, and the fragile bones at the top of his hand. “It looks like I’ll need stitches here and here. No more than six I’d say.” Harper points out with a singular finger the deepest areas - dead center of his palm, and the back of his forearm where the rope had caught their descent. Seeking Seren’s eyes with his own, there’s a question in his gaze before he ventures to ask it. “Do you want to learn on me, or do you think you’d like to wait?” Refusing to use words like ‘not ready’ or ‘scared’, all too aware of the effect that could have on students eager to show their brave face. “I can walk you through them, or you can watch me do it myself.” Perhaps the options would make it easier for her.
if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy
I must be a poster child prodigy
