Little Goat Mountain the poem that took place of a mountain

I’m not a healer.

Ocra laughed. And then laughed so more. It came out in a weird way that put a strain on her shoulder, which caused her to cease for a moment and wince, shaking her head. It doesn’t surprise her that Xan didn’t know what he was doing when it came to healing and she considered, for a moment, to let him flounder for a while longer. If he didn’t know anything, she wasn’t sure why he offered in the first place, but perhaps he was only trying to save his tail with the expectation she wouldn’t want to be touched by him at all.

She sent a sidelong glance to Sriracha, as if to say are you kidding me? but she kept silent for a moment longer to subtly scan her surroundings for something that might actually help. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything that stuck out but perhaps one of them might be able to help so she didn’t have to move too much.

“Do you know what a willow tree looks like?” she asked, locking her gaze on Xan. If he wanted to fix the shoulder, he could prove it, but if not perhaps between the two of them, they could run the boy off and send him on his way. He wasn’t anything but a nuisance at this point and she’d rather continue on without an extra pain hovering over her.