Whitefish River our arms will bandage.

“Within ze moon, if we’re to see his bodily ailments realign,” came the profession’s quiet, versed reply, “and perhaps another, and another, even, to support him in... in living again.” In walking, even breathing; returning him to a regular tempo of both. As for the afflictions to his mind, his soul, Aurëwen could only  (unfortunately)  imagine at what her son’s ordeal must’ve been like. “Otherwise, we can only wait. Wait, and see, and be there for him.”

A shiver went through the mother tarragon, breath misting the balmy airs through a glimpse of pale fangs; and then Aure rose, tentatively settling herself by her daughter’s side. Close, but not so close as to betray the perimeter of tail-length Isi’d put between them. “We will all heal him together—ze three of us.”

Just as when they’d arrived to the riverlands, the silver fell into a numbed, thoughtless silence. Unless her little lightning shrike spoke once more, the wispful argent would remain so. Gazing into the waters with a heavy-browed, inscrutable, yet undeniably scornful concentrated; tail feathering about with feline flicks of pensive and mind-worn.