He reassured their minds by his serenity.
His countenance, wherein his soul was visible,
expressed contempt for danger.
"Please, Megaera." he says as he gazes at the bay woman, his tone a strange mixture of gentle and serious - almost demanding. "This is what I live for." he adds, attempting to meet her gaze. As difficult as it seemed to be for them to understand, he would always be happiest aiding others. It didn't matter if he almost died doing so, if he holds a cure within his grasp he won't hesitate to use it. It's a simple pleasure, really. Wanting nothing in return but to see them healthy. Not everyone could be a hardcore healer like Miykael, though. The world couldn't work that way; it lives for variety, breathes it in and survives on it. Miykael can understand and appreciate these particular differences, especially in this small gathering. Here where every word, every look, and every expression puts the soul on display - revealing their strengths. The longer he remains, the more evident it becomes that he's the only healer here.
And that's okay.
The alabaster filly's small voice pulls his attention back to her, meeting her pale orbs with an easy smile, lowering his head closer to her level. "Healing magic." he declares proudly, his voice softer and more gentle with her. "It's a warm, soothing light that takes away pain and heals wounds." Conveniently, he left off the part about how it hurt him to use it. A white lie by omission of that particular detail but he didn't need to give them any more reason to refuse his help. He likes it better when they don't question. He likes it better when they accept his help based on faith, if nothing else. Questions can lead to guilt or misplaced (in his opinion) concern over his own wellbeing. Neither of which really worked in the healer's favor.
Sighing softly, he raised his head once more, listening carefully to the conversation progressing between the other three. Nephele's choice is clear, however, and the stallion merely nods. "You'd be welcome to visit the Hidden Falls as well, Nephele. I'd be happy to show you around." he offers, remembering almost absently that he also could have offered her a home instead of simply focusing on healing. Clearly, though, any speech he could come up with would be too little and too late. Instead, he simply extends an offer of friendship. It's the least he can do.
Once more the small one's voice pipes in, her declaration in direct contradiction with the coughing that followed her words. Miykael resists the urge to tilt his head and pin her with a dubious look. He could commend her for putting someone else before herself but her decision didn't really sit well with him. The girl is suffering, no matter how well she's perfected her act but after what happened in his past, he couldn't heal her without her permission. He can't go against her wishes. "If you're sure, little one." His blue gaze lingers on her for several more heartbeats before returning to Nephele. He ignores Tembovu's expectant expression, focusing instead on Nephele and offering her a gentle, reassuring smile. A mere moment passes before he can feel his magic building and, as he concentrates on her chest, he directs his light inside her. It expands to fill her chest and encircle her lungs, warming as it does so, and for several moments it lingers. As it dissipates, fading away as it always does when there's nothing left to heal, he merely looks at her. There are no words, no questions. Just a renewed throbbing sensation in his head.
For a moment, though, he lets his sky blue orbs drift over the others. He aches from the disease, from standing as still as he can in this small clearing packed with too many bodies. Yet the aches from using his magic a far less substantial. The healer resists the urge to snort, remembering all too well of the blackness seeping from his nostrils. Reluctantly, he tucks his head towards his chest and arches his neck rather gracefully. In truth, he couldn't be more against the idea than he already is but he couldn't have Megaera worrying anymore. Perhaps if he cured himself of the disease, she'd be less reluctant to let him come and help her herd. So, once again he pulls on his magic - feeling it grow and expand, the healer holds it within his own chest. He can feel his own chest warming, almost... tingling. He can feel it working, feel the light cutting through the thickness coating his respiratory tract. Just as he's done before, his drops his focus and the light fades. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, his lungs feel clear. In a quiet sort of celebration, the healer inhales deeply - relief flooding his lean body even while the pain in his head grows sharper, more insistent.
M I Y K A E L
HEALER OF THE HIDDEN FALLS
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