Moonspear ᵐᵗᵐᵖʰ envinyatar (mtr.)

 aurëwen, aurëwen — what have you done?
it was not disdain penned upon his stern features, but worry. she awoke, stirring to his presence even as he came enlivened in her own. the gargoyle hunched forth as he had once done on the shores of grimnismal, some rankled ferality coming to bear as he drank in the sight of the new price her wandering soul had exacted.
a tracery of red upon the snow of her back; droplets of blood flickering in an otherwise pale sea. such pain was held in the very set of her jaw, and still she did not weep; his very name in her muzzy, fluted tones. lovely for all of it, as she had been in the waters. mahler did not allow himself to think of that, not now, 
"aurëwen," the shadow muttered, for he did not yet know that she had remade herself beneath the stormblade. "so few survive this touch." unhelpful, his marvel; he slipped closer with a grace his large from belied and slid his flank beneath her ailing head that she might lie back and conserve what little was left within her light-stricken vessel.
"aurëwen," and his heart quickened at the delicate feel of her gentle weight, "tell me vhere all the pain is, and vhere it is not." a healer still, first and foremost in spite of everything.