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He regarded her with his dark eyes, a truer shade of blood than that of his father before him. The bright color that Halo carried was similar to that, a taint that the medic knew was one of false blood. Even hot, fresh, blood was dark. Enkiel had seen enough of it to know. Yet his own eyes darkened to an impossible shade, nearly black, as he considered where his knowledge had come from. Another life; another time when he had been a god and the Nile his home. A peculiar smile graced his face, a strange thing that turned it toothy and crocodilian.
“I learned through books, and through trying. It is like learning to hunt. You try, you fail, and then you know.” He shrugged slightly, as if this might explain everything. Perhaps not to an adult, but she was a child, and children grasped things without needing to fully know why, to break it down and make it science this or reason that. Sometimes, he missed such thinking. Growing up was a terrible thing.
“No, plants can heal,” he continued, looking about. He motioned for her to follow and trailed over to a smaller bush. Crouching, he turned one of the leaves over. “This plan is called Valerian. I use the roots to help people sleep when they are ill.”
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