The ferocity of the hawk is one that Onni watches with silent appreciation. The deep set love for the unicorn strewn across the floor of the red desert is one to be admired, but regardless, the healer does not flinch away from the swooping attacks of the small bird that do not touch her. He would do no harm to the painted girl who was coming to aid his beloved friend, and she was safe. Lythy speaking the tongue familiar to the larger predator of a bird, soothing the worries of the larger bird who stays close, worry in the strange avian face in thick creases. There was always a line of faces which stood behind Onni's patients, anxious and waiting for her art to take hold of their loved one, taking them from the clutches of death and restoring their former selves to a more functional sense of self.

The mare hums quietly to herself as the light unfolds from the sky, wrapping itself like a warm blanket around the body of Coris and banishing the fever from his skull, clearing the clouds, soothing the immediate threats of the infection while Lyhty was scouring the desert for necessary herbs. The bird soars in, a twig of sage leaves carried in his small mouth, deposited silently by the hooves of the healer while her blue eyes were kept shut, taking off once more for the bark of the trees she had requested. It is not until the footsteps of another ring in the mare's ears that her hum slows to a stop, one eye opened through the gentle light surrounding her and the grey unicorn, to view the odd little pair who approached. Cirrus, the daughter of Azzuen with the magical coat who had been present at Voltaic's deathbed, present to Onni's greatest failure. At least today, the healer would grant her young eyes witness to a miracle.

The miracle of saving a life from the throws of death. More powerful than the black abyss of death, at least for the moment, the compassion of the medic's heart and her determination to save this being.

The light begins to ebb from Coris's body, returning to the painted girl quietly, silently, as though she were the source for the power. Of course, Onni knew better that her divine power came from the heart of the Sun God, the great misunderstood being who reigned over their home. At the moment, the golden being also reigned over her heart, an innocent admiration for the surprisingly gentle and lonely soul taking hold in their meeting. Without her beloved mentor in this world, she would turn to another. Life was nothing but a series of lessons, and she had decided for the great deity of the Sun to be her next teacher, whether he pretended to be against it or not. "Cirrus," Onni says at the light dissipates, returning the crimson sand to their normal orange shade, "Will you help me mash these leaves and-Onni pauses just as Lyhty deposits the inner bark of a tree at her feet by the sage leaves, "this bark?" A gentle smile at the girl who seemed intrigued. It was better to learn from experience than anything else.

Taking to crushing the mess on a large stone by her feet, a green looking glue substance forms, Lyhty chirping happily on her shoulder and awaiting more instructions. "Find me some thin bark to clean the wound, Lyhty," she whispers over her shoulder at him before the songbird takes off to the sky again.

It is that moment that Onni notices the flickering of eyelids below at her feet. Her pale face is lowered to the ground, a patient ear tilted toward the muzzle of the stallion, listening to the quieted breathing in his lungs. Her light blue eyes look at those formerly glassy, sightless holes, warm and welcoming, but more importantly reassuring. "Welcome back, sir," she says sweetly. "Can you tell me your name?" A simple test of knowledge, but Onni would know relatively immediately if she had been too late to spare his brain ravaging from the fever if he could not produce his title. As Lythy hovers before her face, Onni lifts up to take the small, flat wooden piece and walks to the injured leg, pushing with undo force upon the wound, a creamy, green mixture spilling out from it and likely causing Coris a shock of pain. It mattered little if his fever was healed. The poultice could not be applied in a wound full of puss; it would never heal.
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