Stavanger Bay is it the sea you hear in me, its dissatisfactions?

@Skellige

she was queen, now, and aria and constantine had left. her heart was heavy for the loss of her brother, and though she loved him fiercely she feared he loved her less for remaining true to herself, for ardently defending that which she felt needed her verbal defense--who would protect the ghosts? who would speak for them? her fathers voice would not be silenced after his death, and she had seen to this.

deirdre arrived to the borders, lifting her head and calling lowly for the sea king. with her she carried herbs to tend to he who had aided in saving her life, time after time.

The light in his gaze had turned cold in the most recent days. While he was attempting to overcome the injuries that he had suffered from the bear attack, he had felt himself growing restless. The peaceful life that he lived on the shores – it was not a life that he had intended for himself. The wraith knew that he had no reason to feel so bitter. So full of rage. Yet, when he recalled the day that he had raced into the wood and dove into the line of fire for the pale girl, he did so with a foul taste in his mouth. Skellige was a man of the sea, and he had had no place fighting in the stretch of trees. He had lost the child that he had taken under his care, and he had lost a great deal of his own strength on that day. It had all been for nothing. And that thought was the nail in the lid of his own coffin of rage.
 
When the call sounded overhead, he had been in the furthest reaches of his cavernous den. The crashing of the waves outside had nearly drowned her voice out, but his ears still swiveled forward at the fading melody. With a grunt and a difficult lurch of his stomach, the wraith lifted himself upward and began the meticulous limp toward her summons. When the dark of his eyes caught her form, he was surprised to see how well she looked. Perhaps he was weaker than she… perhaps he had no place in those lands. Skellige closed the distance in a few difficult steps, but he did not speak.  

skellige's fight had not been for naught; he and constantine, both, had ended the bear out of necessity and had in turn saved her. but she knew the fight had cost him much, and her heart fled from her chest as she caught sight of him. deirdre's ears perked and she stood at a lax attention, though her eyes fretfully traced his form. she noted his limp, and deirdre knew she had work to do still; surely doe tended to him as she had her, and deirdre would aid in this work.

deirdre did not yet breathe the news to him, for nothing was quite so important to her then as he himself was! may i? she asked when he was close to her, gesturing worriedly toward his wound.

There was a fretful urgency as her emerald gaze roamed his figure. He was not ashamed of the wounds themselves, for they were a sign of a vicious fight, and echoed the truth of how fortunate he was to be alive and well. Still, the thick and jagged gashes along his shoulder would be certain to scar. The chunk that had been ripped from the bridge of his muzzle still bled from time to time. Even the limbs that had taken the brunt of the bear’s force had quivered with the pressure of carrying his weight. The swarthy beast was not a man of weakness, though, and he would not have admitted to such things. Nevertheless, the eyes of a healer saw all, and she politely inquired if she would be allowed to examine him.
 
The wraith’s crown dropped downward in response. It was a motion of apathy – he did not care if she wished to view the marks against his stiff frame. Deirdre was a healer, but he feared that she could not tend to the wounds of his soul and the bitterness that had taken house there.

he permit her an investigation of his body, but deirdre saw something beneath the surface that had fractured. a part of his soul. that, she understood, would take the most time to heal; she would nurture his pride back to its own full health, as well as the rest of him. she firstly noted the cracked bridge of his muzzle; that would be the easiest to heal, and would only scar if he did not follow the regimen she intended to give him. it needed cleaning, she noted, so that it would not become infected. as she turned beside him, deirdre saw the scar upon his shoulder. it was impressive, and made the rugged man all the more savage looking. her stomach sank; she could not help but feel as though she had caused this harm to his person! deirdre drew even nearer, her muzzle moving to trace the lines of his ribcage. she was reminded of tetsubo's own injury, and knew that he would likely need to recover as that man had.

your shoulder will scar; the wound is deep. i would like to clean this, and the wound upon your muzzle. your sea will help with your recovery. your ribs... they are not so badly damaged as tetsubo's when he had fallen, but they will need time to repair. when the waters are calm and soothing, it can be therapeutic to work your body where there is no gravity, she informed him. she was sure perhaps doe had told him much of the same things she had, but in case she did not deirdre felt it was best to be safe and advise him. deirdre moved beside him, her ears flat atop her crown. there was guilt within her eyes; she felt she was to blame for this all! i am sorry, skellige, she breathed quietly to him, her eyes averting briefly.

 
The pale witch roamed over his figure with a prodding nose. The cold touch caused his skin to rise and the fur along his neck and back bristle with unease. She was a healer, but the witch doctors of his home were not so quick to break the sacred space between them. When they did, he knew it was dire. It was this reminder that flooded through his system as he stood rigidly for the girl. She moved with the same finesse that he did in battle. It was peculiar for him to witness the same dedication but used to mend instead of destroy. Skellige wondered if his life would have been different if he had been born in the woodland with her – if he would favor tender touches and soft words over the rage and chaos of battle.  
 
When she spoke, his ears drew forward and he listened with a solemn expression on his dark face. The words struck him, but he could not allow them to sink in. His shoulder would be scarred, she had stated, and if he wished to keep his muzzle from doing the same, he would need to tend carefully to the wound. His mind wandered over the limp and he frowned to her, unable to muster the anger to speak out against what had happened. Instead, he bowed his head to her apology and breathed a quiet sigh.   

his silence wounded her, bot not because she was offended by it; she simply understood, in her own way, the devastation of losing something you had thought you could not. and he had lost more! deirdre had no words for that, herself, and she gestured toward the calm swell of the evening; the ocean was his home, and she wanted to embrace it, and for him to begin the process of his healing. so much was unknown in life, but deirdre knew one thing for certain: she loved this man before her, and she would do anything to bring back the ferocity of his feral spirit. his quiet was unnerving, but it was because of the hurt that caused it rather than his characteristic stoicism. do you want to begin, now? truly, a wolf could only begin to heal if they were willing.

 
Willingness had never been an issue for the leviathan. He had known nothing but his own willingness and the drive that had pushed him forward so that he could achieve everything that his heart desired. He had already accomplished so much. He had claimed the ground where they stood. He had blessed the lands and granted his followers with their spirit guides so that they might travel through that world with the strength that they needed. Skellige had done so very much since his banishment from Warsaw. The wraith's way of healing was vastly different from Deirdre's. He drove himself forward and pushed through the trials that were placed before him – even if they amounted in pain. He thrived on the struggle and overcoming all that attempted to shackle him down.  
 
She cast her gaze toward the waters, an inquisitive expression on her face. She wished to begin his healing immediately, and he was not in the state to deny her. With a short nod, the shadowy brute began the steady limp toward the waves. He knew that he would not be able to move as fluidly there, and it was a difficult thought, but she would not be pleased if he did not attempt to follow her direction.  

he followed her direction without question. deirdre led him toward the ocean, and together they went into it. she spoke gently, speaking to him of how the waters could aid in his healing and with his limp. warned him to not overwork the limb when it was not necessary to do so, and aggravate the pained area further. she washed the visible wounds with a touch so light it could be likened to the caress of a falling feather, but it was effective, albeit slow. she would not cause him to be in any greater pain than he had endured, though there was no doubt some of what she would do would sting. she warned him of this beforehand, each time.