the faith you prove

Ezekiel de le Poer · 04-02-2011, 04:29 PM

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Word Count: 500

A menagerie of scents came from every corner of the room, from dried herbs he recognized to poultices he did not. There was certainly something magical here, of this he was certain. The woman his father had sired children with was a witch, a healer, and she would most certainly have the talent to rear them. Despite this thought, a darker one shadowed it—those children gave him twisted feelings simply from the way they behaved now. In time he hoped it would change, and they would grow out of such oddities. This was an empty hope, one that he knew in his secret heart could not be true.

Each motion she took was deliberate. He read her body the same way he did with the beasts; low speech was so much a language of motion and not of words. Alaine had spent her life following her path, and she was proud of such a thing. It spoke volumes to Ezekiel that he had been allowed within the room. When her question came, the coyote’s eyes darkened slightly. Gabriel had told him about what had happened to the woman he had known as a mother for so long. “Her name was Fatin Kali. She was an incredibly skilled healer, and a friend of my families for years. My father said she saved the lives of two of his siblings when they were attacked by a wolf. She was there when I was born, and was my godmother. I spent many months traveling with her and her brother, who taught me how to use the bow. Fatin wanted to ensure I knew both sides of their tribe’s teaching so she taught me healing as well,” he explained, eyeing the plants in the room and indentifying those he recognized.

“My sister and mother were with us for a time, but after they left I got homesick. When I came back my aunt taught me a little, and I read a lot after…well, after I got these,” he motioned to the scars over his eye. “Along with a few broken ribs, so I was laid up pretty good. My dad knows basic stuff too,” the boy went on quickly, unwilling to speak of Corvus or the damage done by the demon crow-wolf. “I think he’d be called a combat medic, from what I read. Setting bones, cleaning wounds, dealing with shock, that sort of thing—I know a little more than that, but I only really practiced on myself. Saved me a few scars though,” he added with a wink, proud of the fact that he had treated every wound quickly and saved more damage like the wounds on his face.

He made his way towards her corner of the room and studied the cover of the book there. It was obviously important to her, and he dared not touch it. However, he motioned to it with a nod and looked over to the smaller woman. “Another one of your obsessions?” He asked.

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