Working through the discomfort of the sword slash on his shoulder was just another part of life on the grassland to Asher. His people didn't have the luxury of laying up to heal. So when Verissa crossed her arms and glared at him, her cross expression was met with a confused lift of Asher's scarred eyebrow as he followed her gaze to his shoulder, uncertain what he'd done to earn her displeasure. He was injured. Of course it would bleed...

When Verissa took his hand in hers, Asher's mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but his expression darkened and he followed the blonde wordlessly into the bare interior of the tent. Not much was left inside, only what they would need before the entire tribe became a caravan moving through the dry winter grass of the plains. He noticed a couple of other tribesmen watching, grinning at the way he was letting himself be manhandled by his slave, but he was not bothered. Perhaps having a woman in his life before kept him from being rankled by such things anymore, and the sooner his friends saw him accepting Verissa, the sooner they would follow suit.

Dark eyes watching, trying only partially succesfully to stifle a grin as Verissa cluck-clucked around at him like a mother hen, Asher sat down and let the healer work on his wound. It was hard to see the laceration without the use of a mirror, which was now packed, so he flexed a little and looked at it out of the corner of his eye, worried that he'd somehow made it worse by working too hard. In the end he watched Verissa's face, his nose scrunched against the aching jabs as her fingers prodded the rent in his skin, comforted by the fact that she didn't seem too distraught by what she saw. How funny that he was already content to trust her...

Asher grinned amusedly as she made him stay put instead of helping with dinner, though he was curious about what she was making and fidgeted. Years of being his own cook were not easy to set aside. Settling down to be her translator helped, naming everything she picked up for her to learn. [color=707070]"The rest wont take long in the morning. The hardest part will be folding the tent. The only heavy piece left is the stove. I usually let the fire die on the night before a move so that it's not hot in the morning."[/color] It meant her bedroll would be far more chill tonight than it had been the night before, but there was no doubt in Asher's mind that offering to share his would be met with those frightened eyes. 

He wished Wren were still alive. She was so much better at dealing with people than he was. [color=707070]"You're right. It wont be very much fun for me if my arm rots off before we get there."[/color]

[color=707070]"Just leave some water aside so I can clean up after we eat,"[/color] Asher asked, eventually getting up in spite of her pointed looks. There was a metal clanking as he fiddled with the chains attached to the pole in the center of the tent, disconnecting them completely before carrying them out into the darkness, and a second clatter as he threw them into the bottom of the wagon.

When Asher returned, his footsteps were quiet on the leather floor, intending to sneak up on Verissa to see what she was adding to the soup next. The scent of rosemary had filled the tent and he was planning to tell her that it was one of his favourites. But his words failed when he watched the woman plunge her hand into the seething surface of the water.

[color=707070]"Verissa, [i]no[/i]!"[/color] he shouted, shocked, reaching around her waist with one mighty arm to pull her from the stove, the other darting swiftly for her wrist. Undeniably strong fingers trained for gripping swords closed around her wrist as he brought it up, a strangled noise of dismay working out of his throat as his heart leaped to his throat. [color=707070]"What did you do?!"[/color]

Confusion swept over his face as he brought his other hand to her palm, carefully spreading her fingers open to inspect them. Asher had seen burns before, and expected the mixed blotched red with pale blisters already bubbling...to find her skin scaled and painful. His distress at the idea of her being hurt was pure and genuine, not hidden by the dark broody mask he normally wore. But instead of finding her maimed, Verissa's hand was as pale and flawless as before, and she would be able to watch the realization dawn in his steely eyes as they panned slowly from her hand to her face.

[color=707070]"You're a mage."[/color]