Grouse Thicket Where the wild things are.

She knows better than to let her concern for his behaviour bleed in to the expression on her face. She remains cold and clinical, exactly how she has been trained. It strikes her how neurotic he sounds; hesitant to speak maybe, or poorly socialized. If only the woman had paid more attention to the crone's lessons on the mind and mental illnesses - but she had always been hyper-focused on issues of the physical, things he could witness, touch, cut and mend. All she can do is endure this young man and hope she doesn't send him off the deep end. He appears a touch more unhinged the longer she dwells with him.

He refutes the claim of being a hunter. A utilitarian creature, at the very least. The way he emphasizes he does not like it is unnerving. It is a distinction that he does not need to make. —what do you do? He stumbles through the question, tacks on some specificity, and she takes a carefully measured breath.

I am a physician. There should be pride in her voice, but there isn't. Stryx cannot remember the last time she felt pride in her work; there wasn't really a place for it in her opinion. There had been other students to the Askleipeian Order that had let their ego grow with each success and they were insufferable, often turning away individuals on the basis of their allegiances, their usefulness, and various idiosyncratic justifications. They had broken their oaths in short order. Stryx would never let herself fall in the same trap.

I am pledged to remedy that which ails the body. Do you... Need such help? Maybe it is foolish for her to ask. The question holds a certain connotation that could be misconstrued. She does not want to push this boy; but it is an offer she upholds for every soul she crosses.