Arrow Lake befragung

Rinsed. God, she would’ve rathered her eye rinsed for a century than face her oppressor once more — or, perhaps, it was the other way around? Unable to make any sensible sense of her eddying, waning thoughts, Aurëwen merely rose once Mahler came alongside her, and kept quietly to that enshrouded shoulder.

Her one presence must’ve been some frail, flitting thing on their little adventure. When they reached the intended area, the herbalist openly shied — dug her claws in, and held back for a few heartbeats. Why did water need to be such a reoccurring, elusive, evident theme in her breathless life?

Whether coaxed or no, she looked to Mahler in enquiry; how, exactly, was an eye rinsed? Despite how shivered she was and would be, there still remained a little nugget of inquisitiveness — like a pupil who continued to learn, regardless of circumstance. Of course, Aure might’ve not been aware of it, but, all the same... her ears flickered back, hesitant, uncertain.

Mahler was more than willing to show her, though, and the time they spent together was a balm to the silver’s distress and reinforced despondency. He tended to her, and once what of her eye could be salvaged and mended, left her to inconsistent, endless slumbers.