Once they had harvested what they could from the wyvern’s corpse, they continued towards River Port. Bowyn’s hand absentmindedly rubbed at his shoulder where Boreas used to sit. The lack of talons digging in bothered him, the absence of that comforting weight, and every so often he turned his head and expected to see feathers and beady eyes still there. But Boreas was gone, and everything seemed to remind Bowyn of this. He didn’t want to think about it, he welcomed any distraction. Silence no longer suited Bowyn; it was too uncomfortable to have to focus on his thoughts.
A few weeks ago someone rambling on about their entire week in excruciating detail would’ve been would have both bored and annoyed him. But something in him had changed. He found himself invested in the human’s story, thankful for her willingness to cut through the silence. It was uncomfortable to care about these people, to enjoy the company, but not nearly as difficult as being alone, as focusing on the void left by Boreas. When Clara had finished her tale and started humming strange melodies, Bowyn did his best to hum along as well. His timing off at first but quickly picking up on the rhythm of it. He had forgotten how much he had used to enjoy music.
He didn’t talk much as they walked, but he listened and tried to hum along with Clara when the others were quiet. When Clara announced they were almost at the port, he found himself more nervous than excited. What if he didn’t find Torvi or Belle here? Could he even handle that on top of Boreas? It was hard to keep pace, his feet were weighted down with anxious dread. He could only think of more disappointment, of the probability of only the worst possible fates. There was no other option but to keep going forward. He hated this, caring about so many people other than just himself. Hated feeling an uneasy sickness in the pit of his stomach over so many fates that hung by such a fragile thread. It was a distraction from his goals and it would only bring pain in the long run.
But in the meantime, they were a source of comfort. Loneliness also no longer suited him. He’d realized it at the ball, but it had happened before then. After spending so much time traveling with Torvi, he’d remembered how much easier it was to have others around. After so many years alone in the forest, it had simply been something he’d forgotten as music had been, and he didn’t know if he could forget it all again. Bowyn wasn’t sure he even wanted to remember how to merely survive and forget how to live again.
So he pushed forward. He fought through the dread of not finding his human friends. He remembered how Boreas had always been willing to fight, and this was a little easier than facing the wyvern. Torvi and Belle were strong too, stronger than he, and he would find them. He kept reminding himself of that as he walked, kept thinking it until he believed it.
“Once we get there, and sell these damn scales, we should find someplace with food and strong drinks.” He suggested as the silence had started to return. Bowyn thought the most likely place he’d find Torvi and Belle might be a tavern, and he knew they’d at least know that would be the place to find him.
Valok silently followed Malachi into the healing center. It was a place wholly soothing and inviting, and the atmosphere there made him uneasy. The building was brightly lit and warm, the few people inside approached with a peaceful demeanor, and nothing about it was familiar. It only amplified the side effects of his head injury; dizziness, nausea, anxiety. He didn’t understand the purpose of this; he didn’t need healing, he should heal on his own and allow pain to strengthen him. But it was not his place to argue with Malachi, and so he followed the elf’s order without question.
Once they were led to another room by a demihuman Valok watched the two fairies closely. Ingrained distrust overtook him, an immediate reaction to look at them with disdain and suspicion. Fairies, beings so opposite to dark elves. Creatures that celebrated only the light side of nature; growth, healing, and connection. Fairies who claimed to champion benevolence, but had stood by and watched the dark elves’ banishment. Celebrated in the exile of a race which represented the darker side of nature; sorrow, pain, and violence. When one of the fairies touched his hand it made his skin crawl. He was more prone to expect a knife to the back rather than a helping hand.
The fairy held his hand so lightly that after a moment he barely noticed it. He watched the light that emanated from her other hand with intense fascination. Her hand with its soft warm light gently touched his head, brushing against the lacerations and hair matted down with blood. Even more, than building itself, the healing touch of a fairy was beyond his realm of experience. There was warmth in it, the magic had an innate calming effect, and it was kind. He hadn’t expected kindness, not from Malachi, and certainly not from strange fairies.
Today alone he had seen more kindness from those he was taught to hate than from his kind. Malachi had saved his life, treated him like someone with value. What was his value? Was it to serve the rebellion, to fight for them? It seemed reasonable, but his value as a soldier was still not equivalent to these kindnesses. Did they think he’d have useful information on The Great King’s armies? Perhaps that was the reason, although he knew they would soon be disappointed in how little he knew. But the fae healer was even more perplexing. What benefit did healing him have for her? Just as the fae had been no friend to the dark elves, his people had shown them no kindness, no mercy. He would not have lifted a hand to help a fairy during his time with the army.
Valok exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. To breathe still hurt, and in the serenity of the healing center, he failed to keep from showing signs of pain. While the head injury was now healed, the injuries from the hug of the owlbear remained. The fairy took care of that as well. He wondered how much magic the fairy willingly wasted on him.
“Thank you.” He said, an attempt to repay the kindness. Gestures, he’d never known, didn’t fully understand. But ones, he wanted to repay.
