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11-14-2012, 07:53 PM
"Though I must ask: will I still have time to myself?" The creasing a small smile widened his lips further, “Yes,” male tones uttered gently, “Your schedule should have days off, and a good deal of downtime.” Midas had never noticed many folks getting sick to the point of needing medical attention, but then again he wasn’t a medic master by any means. Their harsher winter allowed elements to soften noses, so he often heard sniffles and coughs throughout the afternoon. Usually herd healers weren’t bothered with people who had minor ailments. “To be honest, I actually know very little about the art of healing, Tamira,” he admitted plainly, though tone was still laced with that same softness that it always had, “I’ve never had to be nursed by one before.” Gaze shifted toward the glassy surface of water, “My talents and experience lay elsewhere.” He knew about fighting, patrolling, training, strategies…and…fathering? His soul had reserves on whether or not someone like him was a fit dad. Seeing how his work took time from homelife. On quiet evenings during patrols, Midas sometimes wondered if Cera would do better with another parent. One that could be near, closer to him and readily available for assistance; but the thought of losing Cera pulled his heart to the point of pain. He couldn’t leave the child in the hands of another, no more than he could strip off his wings. They were as thick as thieves, blood could never be as strong as the love of a parent. |
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