cRess
One by one, they return to Loess after razing Tephra to the ground.
She’s heard the whispers already, of how the great volcano of her home had become very active during the battle, eventually exploding across Tephra. It may have only been her home for a few short days, but she had loved Tephra before, as well... any now it is in ruins, and when Leliana needs advisors the most, she is stuck in this despicable place. She hadn’t minded Loess at first, and in the beginning, she had even liked Castile, but stealing her back here when she had only just broken her chains? It is nearly unforgivable, though she is trying. She simply doesn’t hold hatred in her veins.
She is resting from healing the young boys, standing beneath the shade of a large tree, when the grey mare comes skittering across her vision, sliding to an uncharacteristically messy halt in front of the healer. She goes on about how Cress hates Loess, and her people, then pleads for her to heal Ophanim, and Cress offers her a sad smile. “Your king would never allow that,” she tells Starsin sadly, wondering what things would have been like if she had actually started to love Loess. “And you’re wrong, I do not hate Loess or any of you,” she adds, then brushes past Starsin, starting in the direction she had come from. “Bring me to him, and I will heal him the best I can.”
They get to the golden stallion quickly, and Cress immediately drops to her knees before him, settling in for what is sure to be a long evening. Just hours ago she had saved the life of their son – he is the spitting image of the both of them – and now, she is set to save the father as well. “This is very bad,” she murmurs as she examines the punctures in his throat, already gathering up her abilities. Glancing to Starsin, her brown eyes darken with worry. “I will do my best to save him. Lay with him now; he needs your warmth.”
Closing her eyes, she sets her nose to the uninjured part of his neck and gets to work. His flame-bladder* has been ruined as well, and she almost cringes away from it – that hits a little too close to home, and the fire in her own chest flares as she turns her attention to it. Slowly, meticulously, she repairs it then moves on to closing up the punctures themselves, knitting arteries and veins back together as easily as drawing a breath. She moves next to his broken wing; bones are harder to repair, and it takes her quite some time before she is able to call her work done.
Eventually she opens her eyes and climbs to her feet, looking down at the angel-boy and his fiery wife. “I’ve done all I can,” she tells them, looking over her handiwork – he shouldn’t even scar. “Ophanim will be tired and sore for a few days – I cannot heal the aching muscles or the exhaustion – but he should be fine.”
* i couldn't think of a better word for his fire-thing where the flames come from. so like a swim bladder lol
infected.