in tenebris est veritas.
What a fool they were, for taking pity on this wounded creature. She deserves to die, for being so unprepared; the forest deserves to claim her, as it does all things when their time has come. But there is something about this one-- the shape of her eyes, the design of her skirts, the smell of her fear-- that reminds Chaele of something deep rooted and long forgotten. As they kneel beside Zamara’s outstretched ankle, they loose an irritated sigh.
“You have done enough of that to yourself,” is the flat reply as they retrieve a small roll of gauze from their pack and begin to unwind it. Their movements are awkward and human, despite what the mask and scars might suggest. They do seem to have a strange habit of turning their head from side to side, causing the antlers to sway like branches in wind, but it is only to better see the other woman through the mask’s monocular holes. Peering at the injury as they do so, the healer adds, “At least there is probably nothing broken.”
They do not warn her before lifting her foot by the heel and wrapping it tightly in the yellowing bandages, hands tending with practiced swiftness and not enough gentleness. Even as they work, their eyes wander toward the soaked shirt and discarded sandals, calculating.
“You are a long way from home,” they observe, though perhaps it need not have been said. “Why are you here?”
“You have done enough of that to yourself,” is the flat reply as they retrieve a small roll of gauze from their pack and begin to unwind it. Their movements are awkward and human, despite what the mask and scars might suggest. They do seem to have a strange habit of turning their head from side to side, causing the antlers to sway like branches in wind, but it is only to better see the other woman through the mask’s monocular holes. Peering at the injury as they do so, the healer adds, “At least there is probably nothing broken.”
They do not warn her before lifting her foot by the heel and wrapping it tightly in the yellowing bandages, hands tending with practiced swiftness and not enough gentleness. Even as they work, their eyes wander toward the soaked shirt and discarded sandals, calculating.
“You are a long way from home,” they observe, though perhaps it need not have been said. “Why are you here?”
