Chronic
Sky Blue
Half Pint
CitrusArms
Snowdrops
Randomness
Bacon
LimeTime966
rabidbacon
Cale HenituseNemeia & Ilyana
"Wait!" Nemeia said, fresh concern echoing in her voice. She had fought battles before. Wounds were nothing new. She had seen injuries turn suddenly fatal. She could recognize the signs. Pain was written across the other woman's face. Her movements were slow and labored. There was no time to wait. And no purpose in delaying.
"You are wounded, let me help," shed added gently, her hands held open as she drew closer to Ilyana.
Ilyana frowns, turning towards Nemeia, "Oh, you're a chirurgeon? Got a needle on you to stitch me up? I better ask you your rates first, I'm not carrying much with me."
"I hope you don't mind if we do this outside and in the light?"
"Priestess," Nemeia said with a soft smile, "And I've no need or desire for payment, I simply wish to help."
She held out a hand, "Outside would be nice, I would welcome the sunshine, provided your wound does not worsen before then."
No desire for payment, Ilyana winces, as she walks. Those are usually the most expensive. Not that I have much choice, at the moment.
"I'll walk out of here," she replies. "I've been in Sick Bay too many times among the dead and dying, I welcome open air. But if I fall, see if you can get one of the others to help me out."
Ilyana sighs, side-glancing at Nemeia's curves. Prison and ship food must have stunted her growth, Ilyana had no hips or chest to speak of, it's no wonder everyone thought she was a boy. Men's glances just slid past her to someone else like Nemeia. And no amount of magic was going to fix that.
"I'm sure Galaxor can manage," Nemeia offered, attempting her best to lighten the mood.
"To the surface, friends, we should see to the wounded of our present company and far better away from here," she added to the others, moving to keep pace with Ilyana.
Ilyana was starting to feel light-headed by the time they reached the surface.
"So, how do we do this?" she asks. Was she going to have to accept Nemeia's god to be healed?
Stepping out of the tomb, Nemeia felt a new warmth from the sunlight. The air was clean, purified of whatever evil had afflicted the forest.
She gestured towards a solid slab of carved stone that lay in the nearby grass, "With your permission, I will lay my hands on you. Over the wound. I do not need to touch your skin...but it would help. If you can, it would be most helpful if you tried to relax. A racing mind and lurching heart present their own problems."
"Please, sit or lie down, whichever you prefer," she added, gently guiding Ilyana towards the stone.
Ilyana gingerly sat down, then sighs, pulling out her knife. "I'll have to patch it anyway, but there's no point on this blade. The officers were worried the crew would rip the sails."
Or them, Ilyana shrugged. Hard to be loyal to guys who paid to have her picked up outside of the prison, then when the war was over to maroon her without warning on a deserted island.
"Just... make a... v-notch at the end," she said faintly, lying down, then blacked out. The blood-soaked bandana slipped out of her hand. Almost unnoticed, there was a faint purple line matching the sword-cut.
Nemeia gasped as Ilyana faded. She had suspected they did not have much time, but she hadn't expected her condition to be so delicate.
Wasting no time, Nemeia did as she was bade, and cut Ilyana's clothing with the blunt tipped knife so that she could see the deep gash that had been cut into her hip.
Reciting a familiar prayer, Nemeia gently placed her hands over the wound, and closed her eyes. Warmth rose from deep within in her, not the overbearing light of the sun, but the soothing radiance of the moon. A great circle of silver appeared around Nemeia as she wove her magic, small rays traveling across her person and over her hands.
Ilyana would feel a gentle warmth enveloping her as flesh and muscle mended together. Nemeia's prayer echoed quietly, a faint whisper on her lips as she exhaled deeply, beseeching Valdarun for her aid.
She did not speak of Ilyana's heroism. Her willingness to help her fellow pilgrims and the afflicted denizens of the forest. Valdarun did not care for such things, she loved all the children that danced under the moonlight.
Opening her eyes, Nemeia took clear water from her waterskin and carefully dabbed Ilyana's brow as she examined the wound. It had been a hasty operation, but it appeared successful. Given her sudden decline, Nemeia knew there had been no other choice.
"Awaken, friend, your would is healed, I have done what I could for your pain, but given the haste demanded, some might yet linger."
"Ah?" Ilyana said, her eyes fluttering as they pivoted towards Nemeia. She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn as the memories came back.
"AH!" she cried, pushing herself sitting upright on the stone. "Ah, I mean, thank you, you were very kind to do that. My clothes are ripped, i need to change....."
The half-human turned and got her feet on the ground, then pushed herself upright. "Ah, I'll need you to sign the book, later?" Ilyana said cryptically, then bolted back towards the caravan.
Her/Not her was adrift in inky blackness, listening to the stars singing. Like the sea, there was currents here, flowing towards and outwards from a sun. She/Not her was speeding away from the singing star towards a blue and green sphere over which two smaller silvery spheres spun around. Dimly, She realized she was staring at Luna and the Hunter, but he was not chasing her, they were dancing...?
She/Not Her reached out a hand, and she gasped, for it wasn't her hand, it was a purple translucent flipper...!
Ilyana jerked awake, panting as her heart raced in her chest. She was lying under the tarp on her cart, hearing the sounds of people around her, doing normal people things. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifted her right hand - and looked.
It was her hand. A little rough, but undeniably hers.
She let it collapse onto her chest, her breath quick but she took in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Eventually her breathing became a little more even as she tried to decide if she more relieved her hand as it always was - or disappointed that it was?
"Why am I getting these weird dreams...?" she mutters. The ones around her were used to strange outbursts from her in the middle of the night, but this was daylight still.
Lifting up an edge of the tarp, Ilyana could see the light, all so brilliant over a sea of tents and strangers as the sun radiated all this dry heat down on this strange city in the middle of a desert.
Her donkey was lying partially under the cart, no doubt trying to escape the heat, she could hear it panting, the bucket next to her still had an inch of water in it.
"We need more water," Ilyana sighs, crawling out from under the canvas so as to not disturb the beast.