Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,
And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.
The dove was sweating beneath the searching gaze of the healer. Something agitated and restless tainted her limping strides as she meandered along the coast, eyes flitting this way and that with birdlike twitches - though whether she actually took in much of what she saw was hard to tell.
She tried to smile but it came out feeble, tremulous, marred by clattering teeth and a rather out of place yawn that made no sense in the face of her nervousness... but all the more if you noticed the bags beneath her eyes, the slow drip of clear mucus from the nose or the fact that it really wasn't warm enough even in the desert to cause one to actually sweat.
"Well, I... My leg hurt, really badly. So I got desperate and I took one of the flowers. You know, the red ones... one that bleeds white. And it worked! I felt great, the pain went away... for a while."
She swallowed, keeping her gaze away from Badger and missed the worried expression, the way he steeled himself to endure the weight of her words.
"But lately it hasn't been enough with one flower, or two or even three... and I'm scared uncle Badger because if I don't eat them it hurts but when I do it's like the whole world disappears."
Erthë stopped, tension knitting her muscles together as she waited for some reaction - anger, shouting, lectures maybe - but what she hoped for... well. She wasn't really sure. A way to fix the core problem?
But what could she do, when magic didn't help and herbs only seemed to make the issue bigger, and he thought the gods weren't to be trusted.
"I don't know what to do, uncle" she whispered, close to tears.
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[O] I wonder if you'd look the same, in morning light through window panes
