Whitefish River but the hearts of small children are delicate organs

She never saw reason to fib, especially about her own well-being, and so Aurëwen told him the truth: “Worn to ze bone, my dragon.”  All the same, it felt as off-kilter to be the receiver of such an inquiry; still, she tried to do so with a clumsy grace,  “But not so much, now that you are here,”  and attempted a pale smile that almost reached her tired eyes. ...And perhaps it was the warmth of the day, suffusing green and lulling her son, but airgetlám descended upon her skinny belly all the same. Better to look into his eyes with; and better to rest her paws.

Her own greenery went unheeded, for the moment, as she gave a luxurious stretch of her spine and then, with a yawn that made her half-sight gleam, turned to lie with her shoulderblades pressed into the grasses. Her lower body remained strewn upon one hip, and her tail feathered away, absent. 

“In all these moons, I don't believe I have told you a single thing of my past life. ...I hadn’t always taken kindly to healing.”  She mused with a drawl, eyelashes remaining heavy upon scarred cheekbones.  “When I was a little older than you are now, I wished to know ze art of war, much as your sister wishes to know, now. But I was too thin-limbed, too... too furious with myself,”  the contents of why would remain bitten away  (lest he enquire),  “and so, it was not to be, and I was sent to ze favor of ze haven’s herbalists instead.”

“And I... hated it. Hated plants. I did not yet understand ze purpose of what feeding wolves like sheep was. I thought it ludicrous. But, I was then tutored by Hypatia — one of ze finest, and most known for her patience.”  Her lashes fluttered,  “Even for me,”  and unveiled the memory-misted eyes beneath. 

Then, with Cheshire queen’s grin, the druid canted her marred head to her son and crooned, “What do you think my first patient had? Guess.”