The light that meets the dark
Reunited with her parents and promptly scolded, then hugged, then cried over and scolded again for it, Cheri felt a burgeoning sense of normalcy returning to her daily routine even if everything else had changed around her. Pappa Yan had been fighting a horrible infection from his cut when he’d fallen on the mountain, which Cheri could not be certain (but was also pretty sure) had turned into something foul that was traveling through his blood, that needed serious attention and a good bit of her energy to restore. Healing him had not been like healing Targaryen; in the first instance, her magic had been sucked out of her unwillingly. Healing her sire had been harder, much harder, and required uninterrupted focus and several attempts before the worst of it was burnt out of his flesh. The wound would need more than one dose of her magic, because Cheri couldn’t have hoped to mend the damage in one sitting.
That frustrated her.
Why had the two scenarios been different? What sort of practice did she need to learn her blessed skill? She wanted to heal, loved that it was a part of her, but was just a fish swimming upstream against the current when it came to actually using the power. While the echoes had seemed to come naturally to her siblings, healing did not some swiftly to Cheri, and her parents (neither of which had the ability to heal) were sometimes at a loss on how to train or encourage her.
But she tried. Cheri knew through her limited experience that any and all practice would be beneficial, even if said work failed to yield the results she wanted. After all, she’d helped to mend some of the tears in mother’s butterfly wings fairly easily after struggling through Pappa Yan’s morbid knee injury, so that alone was proof.
Practice then. Practice was what she needed, and practice was what she went searching for in the hours while Yan, Ama, and Borderline slept. Her father seemed reconciled with the mare who’d kept her distance during Cheri’s early childhood, whether it was because of the eclipse circumstance or not, and Cheri was happier for it. She enjoyed having Memorie around, because then the girls outnumbered the boys. Her twin Reynard seemed indifferent so far.
Meandering toward the borders where Tephra clasped her hand in Taiga’s curving territory, Cheri came across (nearly stepped on, had it not been for the faint glow of her white leg markings) a fallen bird. No doubt the poor creature had been disoriented by the constant dark, the result of which had left it broken and battered here on the ground where the trees blended into tropical variants. The yearling girl lowered her nose toward the still-warm creature, marveling at its lovely feathers all out of shape. One of its wings was twisted; the poor creature couldn’t rise but it struggled in vain to move away from her, perceiving Cheri as a predator about to take advantage.
“Shh there, poor little thing.” She breathed, heartbroken. “Try to stay still and I’ll see if I can fix that wing up.”
That frustrated her.
Why had the two scenarios been different? What sort of practice did she need to learn her blessed skill? She wanted to heal, loved that it was a part of her, but was just a fish swimming upstream against the current when it came to actually using the power. While the echoes had seemed to come naturally to her siblings, healing did not some swiftly to Cheri, and her parents (neither of which had the ability to heal) were sometimes at a loss on how to train or encourage her.
But she tried. Cheri knew through her limited experience that any and all practice would be beneficial, even if said work failed to yield the results she wanted. After all, she’d helped to mend some of the tears in mother’s butterfly wings fairly easily after struggling through Pappa Yan’s morbid knee injury, so that alone was proof.
Practice then. Practice was what she needed, and practice was what she went searching for in the hours while Yan, Ama, and Borderline slept. Her father seemed reconciled with the mare who’d kept her distance during Cheri’s early childhood, whether it was because of the eclipse circumstance or not, and Cheri was happier for it. She enjoyed having Memorie around, because then the girls outnumbered the boys. Her twin Reynard seemed indifferent so far.
Meandering toward the borders where Tephra clasped her hand in Taiga’s curving territory, Cheri came across (nearly stepped on, had it not been for the faint glow of her white leg markings) a fallen bird. No doubt the poor creature had been disoriented by the constant dark, the result of which had left it broken and battered here on the ground where the trees blended into tropical variants. The yearling girl lowered her nose toward the still-warm creature, marveling at its lovely feathers all out of shape. One of its wings was twisted; the poor creature couldn’t rise but it struggled in vain to move away from her, perceiving Cheri as a predator about to take advantage.
“Shh there, poor little thing.” She breathed, heartbroken. “Try to stay still and I’ll see if I can fix that wing up.”
@[sorren] <3