Meadow

Who was your first? The scarred mare's question makes him stiffen and freeze. He knew who had been his first patient of course, but he hadn't thought of her in years. Geçersiz swallowed thickly in the silence he'd created and answered with his eyes diverted to the scenery to avoid the too-sharp eyes of Shenzi. He wasn't sure he could handle the probing intelligence there on top of the jagged memory of his little sister.

"Sarisi, my...sister." He said, his voice clipped from the pain. Back then, carrying the neck-rope that Merwerit had worn away from the scene of his little sister's birth had seemed like the most important task he might ever carry out in the world, and he remembered how adamant she had been to meet him and how proud he'd been to the be the one that had been chosen to receive her attention. "I was there when she was born."

The smile that touches his lips at her recognition is twisted and fleeting, rushing by so fast that it hardly had time to form before it was gone. Still, there is warmth in the timber of his voice as he affirms her identification. "I am." Still in name anyway, if no longer in body.

As soon as she accepts his help, he turns back toward the cache of dried plants and gathered materials gratefully and lowers his muzzle to pick through the small pile. The camphor was easy to locate, as even dried it smelled strongly of bitter medicine that made his nostrils widen and breath feel cold. With neither hands nor tools, the black stallion had only two methods of which to grind plants, and both came with their own benefits and problems. Chewing it would be faster and would wet the plant without a trip to the water, but would be bitter on his own tongue and may cause her to resist if she were dainty enough to dislike the idea of someone else's saliva on their face. But to do otherwise would require more time, and he was far too flustered at the idea of crafting a salve beneath her weighted gaze to seriously consider the second option.

It occurred to him only half of a second before he picked up the camphor he had harvested earlier in the week that the plant was still growing nearby, and that - if tenderized with a few careful scrapes of his hoof - it might be faster and less invasive than rubbing his spit across her face.

Her question makes him flush with pride, and he ducked his head away from her face. Geçersiz wasn't sure if it was her connection to his mother or their conversation or some other, nameless quality, but the thought of this battle-scarred mare being impressed at something he had done warmed him from the inside out. "Yes," he murmured with a quiet smile. "They're everywhere when you know how to look for them."

As he turned with the intention of seeking out a fresh source, he watched as she dropped her head to investigate and allowed his ears to tip back in unease. The plant she reached for was not dangerous, but he knew there were others among his supplies that could harm her if ingested. He peered at the pile she had indicated and smiled, remembering how happy his mother had been to find them on Salem that summer. The little pink flowers - now gone brown and brittle from drying in the open air - were surprisingly tolerant of the lesser rainfall to the south and he'd been lucky to find a stray patch on the Crossing.

"Coneflower," he murmured softly, his lips curving into a sad smile as a parody of his mother's lesson tumbled from his lips. "It's good for sore throats, mostly, but it can help with pain too."

Wanting to hide the way his eyes burned with the threat of tears, the sooty black turned away abruptly to stalk a short distance into the cover of the trees. The plant he had remembered was still there, albeit looking a little downtrodden from passing traffic. Working quickly, he plucked the largest leaf it had to offer and carried it self-conciously back to the stained rock he had been treating as a workstation. It took only a moment to lay the leaf down and scrape it gently with his hoof, and he lifted it again between his teeth and moved toward Shenzi again, looking to her gaze for approval.

If she allowed it, he would lay the leaf across her wound like a band-aid, and gently press on the edges that had been dampened by the crushed leaf juice so that they adhered to her skin. Her wound was mild, so he hoped that the leaf would stay on by itself long enough to cool the pain and perhaps promote the healing of the skin beneath.

"There," he said awkwardly with a clearing of his throat. He'd already stepped back to a more comfortable social distance and only reluctantly brought his gaze back to her own. "That should, uh, do it. The leaf doesn't need to stay on for long but if it keeps hurting -" he murmured, knowing that the odds of such a small wound continuing to trouble a mare as fierce as Shenzi were small. He gestured to the messy array of plants and things around him. "- you know where to find me now."

He paused for a moment, a question hovering on the tip of his tongue. He had no restorative for the reopening of old emotional wounds, but he hadn't expected to run across someone from his past right away either. Now that the question had occurred to him, he didn't want to let it go. His voice was hesitant as he asked, almost as if he was apologizing even as he asked his question. "Are they– I mean, do you know if they–" Gecko shifted in place, his gaze ducking away from and then back to her. "Are they still there?"