The Covington Manor, East Shroud, 1568
"I knew it was a bad idea to let her travel so far on her own," Selene's voice wafted in from the hallway, muffled by the closed door.Â
Faye narrowed her eyes, trying to drown out the sound of her mother's voice so she could focus on her sewing instead in the dim lighting of the guest bedroom, fixing a busted seam in the dress she had worn the day before that had ripped during her little adventure in La Noscea.Â
"She has to grow up someday. We must teach her independence. She came back without a scratch," Nicholas responded in his usual tone, calm yet somehow strict enough that anyone would be hard-pressed to argue.
Despite her best attempt to ignore their conversation, Faye's lips curled into a pleased grin as she worked the needle and thread through the delicate fabric. Getting her father to approve of what she wanted was a certain victory.
Selene, however, did have the gall to protest still. "Without a scratch, and with an unconscious boy. She could have been hurt. You know, when I told her yesterday morning that she needed to consider marriage, I didn't expect her to literally drag a boy home."
Faye grimaced at that, the needle slipping out of her grip, the sharp point of it jabbing into the pad of her thumb deeply enough to draw a single drop of crimson blood. She inhaled a sharp breath, quickly bringing the thumb to her lips to nurse the wound and more importantly lick away the droplet of blood before it could fall on her dress and stain the white fabric. As she pulled her thumb away a faint white light sparked around her thumb, healing aether closing together the small tear in her skin.Â
Her mother's words resounding in her head, she peered up at the Midlander boy in question, still unconscious in their guest bed. The deep, vertical gash that ran across his right eye was just beginning to close and mend. Nicholas had said he should regain consciousness within a couple days, but he would be lucky to still have full sight in his right eye. Despite their bickering even a day later, Faye's parents had graciously agreed to let the young man find shelter with them.
She had mixed feelings on the whole affair. The only child was not keen on suddenly having a complete stranger as a brother. Still, she didn't have the heart to question her parents. His entire home--and for that matter village--was destroyed, and the Maelstrom had not yet found any living and untempered survivors to report. He had nowhere else to go, and the Covington family certainly had the means to support him--and she had offered to drag him home with her, after all.Â
Perhaps she also had a more intimate investment. Her unsuccessful attempt to heal his eye had felt like a personal failure, even though more skilled healers had failed just the same in their following attempts to close the wound. She had kept watch over the boy all day, but he had not awoken, the most life he had shown the occasional grunt or stir. She returned her attention to the sewing, resuming where she had left off before she picked herself, only to hear another groan and the shuffling of sheets. She ignored it, figuring it was no cause for excitement, at least until she heard a groggy voice speak up, "Where am I?"
She dropped the dress and needle, fabric, landing onto her lap and slowly sliding off onto the floor as she peered up at the boy, finding him weakly propping himself up from the mattress onto his elbows, staring at her with one eye, his right eye sealed shut. "Oh, ah, you're in my family's house, in the East Shroud." She cleared her throat, straightening her posture. "Welcome to the Covington Manor. Faye Covington, at your service," she offered the well-rehearsed introduction. She had no idea what else to say. How do you tell someone their entire home village is gone? Clearly, leaving things to the basic introductions was the best option.
He lifted one hand to cover his right eye, sitting up a little further. "Oh, hi, Faye. I'm Zularti. But how did I get here?"
Faye's teeth clamped down upon her lower lip to chew on it nervously. She couldn't hope to avoid the subject for long. Thus the words quickly spewed out, "Do you remember any of it? The Sahagin attacked your village. I found you bleeding and helped you, but you passed out. They couldn't find any other survivors and most of the homes were destroyed beyond repair. So, ah, my parents said you could stay here with us for a while."
Zularti stared at her blankly in silence for some time before offering a, "That sounds kinda familiar. What's wrong with my eye?"
Once the question had been posed, the dam was once again lifted to let the words flood out. "I don't know, when I found you there was blood all over your face. I tried to heal it, but I couldn't. I-I'm sorry, I did the best that I could, I tried and tried until I fell over, but I couldn't fix it. Neither could the healers who tried after me. Father doesn't know if you'll be able to see out of it."
He seemed to take the news rather well, asking without missing a beat, "Will I get a cool scar?"
Faye simply stared at him, baffled. She blinked her eyes, as if that could somehow help her comprehend his words, before asking, "What?"
"Do you think I'll have a neat scar? Will I get to look like some cool warrior guy?"
"Oh. Ah... sure."
![[Image: NCtCate.png]](http://i.imgur.com/NCtCate.png)
