Healing.

[Lamai]

It was, for the most part, a beautiful day. The sun shone on the lake, causing a glare if it was caught just right. From the tavern proper, the marring wasn't even visible. There was no way to look out the window and wonder 'what is that, there in the sand? What happened?'

Lamai didn't need to be able to see it to know it was there. Nor did she need to ask why it was or what had happened.

At her wishes, James had chosen to stand outside the large wound. Lamai didn't wish him stepping onto the tainted sand, and as of yet, he hadn't. Yet, there were interesting things to observe about it.

The coloring of the sand, for one. On the outer edges, just beyond where he stood, the sand was its usual shade. It slowly darkened, bit by bit, until the very center was pitch black. It wasn't a small radius to that middle, either. Furthermore, the sand had slowly turned to glass the closer in one got. He could tell simply by the way the light changed; it seemed to glitter and bounce off of the pitch black glass the closer to the middle she got.

"Ah, Kerrak. Four years, and the water still can't wash away the depth of your rage.." Lamai murmured as she lowered to her knees there in the tainted sand. There was no concern that sweeping her fingers through that glass might hurt her; each little grain was its own, perfect sphere.

Pants had another use, of course. They allowed her to wear a belt, and a belt came with things like pouches for vials. An empty one was lifted out of its holder and unstoppered, all the while she talked to the dead. "I married your son. After you left, I didn't think I'd be able.." She paused, then exhaled a slow breath. Her fingers slid through the grains again, and she brought up a full palm full.

"He is definitely your son. I thought he was a complete and utter ass to begin with. I was in mourning, and every time he spoke to me, he made me want to hit him!" Yet, there was humor in her tone, and her other hand carefully set the mouth of that vial against her palm, and with a tip, she began to send the glassy sand into carefully prepared container. "I can look back on it now and see what he was doing. So calculated, our Christoph. He roused me enough to remember to breathe, a little longer each time.

I still miss you terribly, my dark fire. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, but I am happy."

Lamai sighed as the last bit of sand filtered into the vial, and she swept that palm against those pants. The container was stoppered again, then tucked back into its pouch.

"If you are listening, I could use your help. There is another whose mind is going. I've seen the hints of violence behind it. I'm not certain if I can succeed where I failed with you." Ah. Self-esteem. It was far less strong than she made it seem to others. The young healer chuckled, then slowly pushed herself to her feet. "I'm bringing him here for a reason. We both know why. Just watch out for me, would you? Just in case."

Her head turned to look at James, and he smiled with a hand lifting and stretching out to her. Lamai nodded, then started the careful trek past broken rock to where he stood.

Faith. Belief in something that was unseen. Kerrak had never actually answered her, but she couldn't believe that he was simply gone and unwatching. Her heart just wouldn't allow it.

[catch]

Whether it was some sixth instinct or one of the five it was difficult to say. The blasted sand he knew about, and he avoided, not because it was strange and incredibly out of place, but because the animals did not wish to come here. Animals, Catch had found, always had very good reasons for what they did, and did not need to excuse themselves. Somewhat freeing, and Catch, in his darker moods, often wondered what his life would be like if he needn't keep these trappings of his humanity, and could throw off his skin as Kacela did, and do what he felt like. Such thoughts, however, brought with them imaginings of the inscrutable Baie that Ser Elliot had told him about, and Catch would, guilt-ridden, have to do something to rid himself of the taste.

In any case, he had caught the sound of scent, a giggle of color, and, wary of the Forest Lord, he crept up to the edge of the blasted place, shovel slung over his shoulder, mismatched eyes rolling over the glassy landscape. He was nervous, and that was plain to see, the way his boots crackled and stomped on the edges of glassy pebbles and dusty debris.

"The animals don't come here, you know," he told James softly, head twisting to rub his cheek against his shoulder with a rough noise of stiff, human hair on linens. In addition to his woolen cap, Catch had stuffed over it yet another hat, a pretty, expensive thing of sea-blue silks, with a long feather jutting jauntily at an angle, sweeping above his head like a peacock's tail. Catch straightened again, and slouched again, always in motion, unable to keep himself still, no matter his efforts. He toed a large, glass globule with his boot, shoving it away with a clatter, grinning at the simple game.

[Lamai]

"Nothing does anymore, except her," James returned quietly, watching Lamai pick her way across that burned landscape. His eyes danced with concern for his charge, but the Forest Lord wasn't paying any less attention to Catch. Had the man been drawn here by some whispering magic of Lamai's? The young woman had ways and means of things beyond even James' understandings.

"You have a new hat.." He remarked. His hand lowered as he waited, and then with a hint of a fidget, arms lifted to fold over his chest. Yet, even James couldn't help the smile at Catch's simple amusement. He wasn't pleased with this arrangement, still. Furthermore, being so close to this particular energy.. it could only hurt her.

Yet, as Lamai finally drew close enough to smile brightly at her newest patient, he could understand how the Baron just smiled in exasperation at his wife. There was something -alive- in those eyes, a pleasure at being able to help.

"Catch," Lamai greeted, booted feet finally slipping off of the ruined sand onto something more natural. "Your hat is beautiful! I love the feather!" Simple pleasures. Let's not touch on her own, lingering grief, nor on the hint of moisture in the corners of her eyes.

[catch]

Catch could not tell if anything was wrong, and, of course, she was speaking of his new hat, and the addled man was so bursting with good news that he beamed at her misty-eyes and Forest Lord, swinging his shovel down so that they could get a better look, his thin fingers going up, up the feather, instead of down, down his scar.

"Oh, thank you, Sky Lady," he says, remembering his humble politeness, but the rest came in a burst of glee, the madman unable to keep it anymore between his teeth. "Ser Glenn gave it to me, and he promised that all the Bad Chocolate will be gone, too!" It was a grand day, and now that Catch had come here, and had seen Lamai dwell on the glass and leave without coming to harm, he was looking curiously across the expanse, reaching out his shovel to tap at it in experiment. Why, he could bury the Fat Man out here with no-one to notice, but he said nothing out loud. There were some things that he knew he should keep quiet about and ask forgiveness later.

[Lamai]

"It's nearly tall enough to reach the clouds," Lamai informed him, quite happy that he preferred to play with the feather rather than the mark that bothered him so. Ser Glenn gave it to him, did he? Interesting.

James furrowed his brows, and Lamai gave a small shake of her head in response. Whatever Catch had seen in the healer in days previous, it had passed or had been forgotten in the new excitement. The man had a shovel. There was no telling, was there?

"He has, has he? I suppose it makes it all the more important that we help him as soon as possible, then," Lamai ignored James' frown, and the expression was smoothed away not a moment later. Instead, she was reaching for that shovel with a delighted little smile of her own, as if she had -secrets-. "James is more than happy to watch this for you while we work. He won't steal it."

Now was not the time for inner arguments. It had to be done; the sooner they finished, the sooner they went home. He -could- keep trying to postpone it, but in the end, the healer had to do what she did. Christoph had broken the curse -- or perhaps it was Kerrak that had broken it. For a moment, Lamai actually paused and looked back over the expanse of glass. Perhaps, he had.

[catch]

Without hesitance he handed to her the shovel that she asked for, immediate and obedient, and Catch was almost bursting with delight, his cheeks full of happiness. High compliments, and he would have to pass it along to Ser Glenn, when they helped him.

When they helped him? Would it be now? Catch looked about himself, uncertain, trying to spy Glenn Burnie in every rock or specks of grass - or glass? Catch had a glass in his room, where he could see himself, and when Miss Dulcie had given the room to him he had spent hours making faces at it, and inspecting all the parts of him he couldn't see. Wasn't it a grand thing, to look out at your own face? A little frightening, too.

"Are we going to help him now?" he asks, as polite as he can be, his hands twisting at the trailing edge of his linen tunic that just won't stay tucked.

[Lamai]

It was a good sign that he trusted her so easily. The next part of it was going to be delicate, indeed. The shovel was taken and handed over to James. James, whose spine had gone semi-straight as a soldier's should, and who treated the shovel as if it was the most important thing ever.

"It's going to be a long process, so the sooner we start, the better. Don't you agree?" Lamai offered, taking a few more steps away from the ruined ground before lowering herself into the clean sand. Legs were crossed underneath her, and she couldn't help but grin just a little.

"You see, Catch, I got sick some time ago. I'm not as strong as I used to be, so I have to borrow from other people. James is wonderful, of course, but he's still quite new to seeing things differently than other people." Not a bit of that was a lie, either. The truth was far more dangerous than a lie. "What I was hoping for.. well.." Her cheeks flushed a little red, and she looked away, biting her lip, but not continuing the thought.

[catch]

With a last, little glance at James, Catch paced along behind her, even at those few steps. It was trust, yes, but it was something ingrained in him, a part of him, to be obedient. He did what Lamai said because she knew better, didn't she? Catch knew he wasn't right, knew he wasn't whole, and knew he could not trust even his own senses. Ser Glenn used to berate Catch, for trusting strangers so easily and entirely. He hadn't done so in months.

Onto the sand he goes, opposite of her, folding himself like a strange, inexpert mannequin, until his legs were neatly tucked to the side, and he sat up as straight as any proper lady settling her imaginary skirts, his hands holding themselves loose in his lap. He watched her, worriedly, as he spoke, his bovine eyes placid and his brows skewed up in concentration. Was she sick? Catch couldn't feel it, not well, and he still looked around for Ser Glenn every once and awhile, and looked at James when she spoke of him, and at the glass, until she came to such an abrupt stop that Catch's shoulders jerked, and he realized he hadn't heard most of what she said.

"I'd do anything to help Ser Glenn!" he says fervently, after he gathers the shattered bits of his wits. "I-I would have already had put him back together, but the Black Man hits me, and Ser Glenn has a sharp stick that jumps at me when I try." The stick had been given demonic powers, simply because Catch couldn't imagine why Ser Glenn would strike him, beyond punishment that Catch had justly earned. Then it was alright.

[Lamai]

There was a brief flash of anger that required her to close her eyes briefly, lest Catch.. catch sight of it. Glenn needed a bloody babysitter. Though, part of her felt guilty that perhaps Glenn had been forced into taking on too much. After all, she had refused to come assist.

Then again, she literally had been unable to do so!

Ultimately, the man was positively infuriating, and if he thought for one minute that she was going to tell him anything about what she found or did inside of Catch's head, he had another thing coming!

"Anything? Because what I need.. well.. Catch, I need to get inside of your head," Lamai slowly opened her eyes and turned them to look at him. There it was, out in the open. She needed inside that absolute chaos. She said nothing of what she might need to -do- in there; she had no intent of lying. There wasn't even a promise of not hurting him. It might hurt. She wasn't certain.

[catch]

Of all the things she may have asked, this was not something that Catch anticipated in the least. He wasn't very good with anticipation, unless he had been promised something good, such as the hat, or the terrible, weighted kind when he had gone inside his head, or had done something worse that required punishment. It was true, that he had let Miss Dulcie in, that Suede had gone in (though the weasel-tailor lived there, anyway). But the Sky Lady?

He looked everywhere but her, head twisting to rub his shoulder again, bobbing loose and around like a giant, man-made-toy. That silence, stretching on and on. Was Ser Glenn even coming? No, she said she had been sick. That was it.

"You're sick," he says, slowly, plodding the words out. "S-so, you're not strong enough to fix Ser Glenn, and he won't let me, but he'll let you, won't he?" It was circuitous, confusing, and Catch could only grasp it like that. "What if you don't like me, after you go in?" he asks, his dull eyes growing a shine as tears spring to them. But though he asks that, he's already moving himself closer to her, accepting that - to set Ser Glenn aright - this needs to happen, even if Catch loses her.

[Lamai]

Yes, Lamai. What if he decides he doesn't like -you- after you've gone in? What if what he sees scares him so badly that he tries to kill you?

That is what I have you here for, James.

To James' credit, his face remained the perfect mask. Not even a twitch to give way to his displeasure. After all, had she not seen worse in Kerrak? Things that were so much worse that she never spoke of them. And more still, from her 'youth', and that was as far as she ever got in telling those stories. Part of him even wondered if Christoph knew why she was terrified of cathedral bells.

"You have my promise that I won't like you any less, regardless of what I see, Catch. This is my job. I go into the dark places in people's heads and try to make them less dark," Lamai explained as gentle as she could, but for once, she didn't reach out to grasp for his hand. This time, he would have to come to her completely.

"I can't promise to make it less dark in your head, but I need to see if there is anything in there that might help us fix Glenn," It wasn't that she was going in there to fix him -- even though she was. And it wasn't a lie to say she needed to see if there was anything inside of him to help, either. Glenn had hinted that Catch might be able to restore some of what the fever had taken. The truth was, Lamai didn't care a wit about that. She cared that Catch struggled. That Glenn had agreed to anything was only a plus, and apparently, a good way for Catch to let her inside.

Contrary to popular belief, she never went where she wasn't invited.

[catch]

"You promise you'll still like me?" She had already said, hadn't she? But Catch needed that reassurance, like a child desperate for favor, for love and acceptance. Things that Catch had found here in plenty, until he was terrified to lose it again, where even the howling of wolves and the sounds of other wild things could tempt, but not turn him.

It was Catch who moved, as he had when taking Dulcie, when taking Suede, not knowing if Lamai would do it right or not, but knowing his own cautious, frightened way. That mauled head would come down, and she was spared the feel of his dented, deformed foreskull, thanks to his hats, the feather jigging and arching over the two from his movement. There, eye to twitching eye, head to head, his scar swallowed her whole.


__________________________________________


Dual familiarities set side by side. The streets were made of stones from Myrken, stones from Thessilane, the rotting, ramshackle buildings cast in Amasynia and Thessilane style. Each stone, each plank of wood, had the course of Catch's military tattoos, stamped there in infinite permanence. The whole city gave the impression of being abandoned, not so long ago that the buildings, roofs, fell, but just long enough that grass sprouted from between each cobble, and the weather had grayed out untreated wood, caused dried lime to crust on building stones. There is a smell of decay, as if all this is real, and some small creature or pet had not been fortunate enough to live in a house with hinges loose and glass broken, and had starved to death in it's owners sudden, unexpected absence.

It did not overwhelm her, as it had Dulcie; neither did it share it's madness, as it had with Suede. Rather, this strange, malevolent intelligence that ran and pulsed through the very air, the gray-darkened skies, and loose dusting of white ash, seemed to draw away from her, taking from her the memories to create this desolate landscape. One that still smoked.

Of humanity, of life, there was only two signs. A column of smoke that belched from one of the chimneys, shot through with red lightning and spitting orange sparks, and the faint image of a massive dog, starved and covered with thick, calloused mange, a familiar creature that skulked and hid in the dark, narrow passages between the buildings.

[Lamai]

Glenn had said something about keeping the blood until the absolute last, but she wasn't going to do that. There was no way that any of them could convince her that needing a blood bond of any sort was necessary. If she needed -that-, then she was a poor healer. Therefore, it hadn't even been mentioned.

His ability to pull even her expectant psyche into his was impressive. It was, oddly enough, the first thing that she noted as her vision shifted into something less tangible.

The devil was in the details, of course. Stones from bits and pieces of life. The very decay seemed to breathe around her. What was it that Dulcie had said; Catch seemed to be getting worse as time went on? If this was any indication, it was entirely understandable as to why.

Yet, Lamai had her own, hidden secrets. Even with the protective mantle of the Forest King laid upon her shoulders, there was one, remarkable difference between what was seen on the outside and what he had the ability to view here. Wings. They had to have been brilliant and massive, once upon a time. Yet, just like the glass on the beach, the feathers had been melted and fused together until the extra appendages were little more than burdens, ugly and scarred and -useless-.

In direct contrast, the white strip of cloth that was bound around her head, covering her eyes, was clean and pure. As was the white of her shirt, though the hems of the too-long sleeves seemed to be stained with rust. Or blood. Brown pants were too big, held on bony hips by a belt, and she was barefoot.

I don't have to see you to know you're there. Lamai informed the Wolf. We've already met before, you and I. Yet, her head was turning towards the sparking, angry building that she obviously couldn't see. Hands rose, adjusting the dark green cape that was the only spot of color on her, save her loosely flowing hair. Shall we do this the easy way, or do you intend to make it difficult?

[catch]

There was no answer to her call but a thundering echo and silence, marred only by the gentle rock of hinges needing oil, the clak-clik of overgrown, yellowed claws on the cobbles. This was not his element. This intruder, this thing with melted wings, and blinded eyes. Did it prefer to humor only those it knows to be captives, those willing participants who, nevertheless, were there until it satisfied itself of them, and were then thrown aside like refuse, with pain and torment?


"Turn back." The wolf finally spoke, his voice coming from before her, behind, and all around, thick int he air itself, and the precise overlay of markings on the stones and wood lifted their wedged heads, chittering together like mocking, beetle-insects. It is cross, this creature, and frightened, though it tried to betray nothing in it's all-encompassing voice. As if to emphasis its words, the fire-house uttered a thick belch, and that smell of decay came on stronger, black smoke turning to black flies that settled on the beast's shadowed, pus-crusted flanks and ragged ears as it paced, that sought to perch themselves, too, on the woman's ruined wings.

"I see the heart of you, I know what you seek. You want to take this power? It will take you. Selfish, foolish little beast. It is mine."

[Lamai]

I will not. Quiet and firm, those words. Flies buzzed, hungering for more sustenance in a dying heart that offered so little. Either the appendages were so dead as to not feel the dozens of tiny feet, or she simply refused to allow it to gain her focus.

He was afraid, this beast trapped within. Afraid and hungry, defending his territory till his very last breath. Lamai's heart ached for his suffering, and she remained perfectly still with the clack of claws against mismatched stone.

You see what I wished you to see. Just as you do not tell a child it may hurt to cleanse the wound, I spoke only of his own desire to be helpful. While I may need the power within, I do not want it, nor do I want to keep it.

Her head turned again, and that sightless face seemed to pinpoint the very direction where the wolf cowered, barking its demands with a low growl that hid his fear. Let me help you. Let me help all of you. You're sick, don't you see? You're dying, and when you die, what happens next? Let me ease your suffering.