On Premolar Void and Light

The conjured water swirled gently in the bucket as he put it down in the golden grass of Mac'Aree. Meyren stared at the water for a moment, waiting for it to simply vanish, or for the conjured bucket to give in under his doubtful gaze and drench the dry ground under his feet. For now, it seemed to hold.

He looked back over the dry hedge, catching a glimpse of the dawnpriestess who had conjured the water for him. The low, unnatural light caught on the golden ornaments on her ears as she busied herself filling her long oak pipe with herbs. She did not turn around to look at him. He watched as she lit the long pipe and inhaled deeply, exhaling the sweet smoke to the void-tainted air. She seemed at ease and relaxed, watching the terrace where the rest of their unit had huddled down for the night to lick at their wounds with what appeared to be mild curiousity.

The echoes of the void-borne visions still lingered in the back of his mind and as he stood by the magical bucket. Nightmares were crawling their way into his waking hours, and he could not help but expect the tall, regal mistress of endearing pet names and gentle healing to turn on him, warp into yet another monster and rip his mind to shreds.

"It will not bite you, dear squirrel," Sunwillow chuckled, her voice bringing his mind back to reality.

Meyren cleared his throat and turned to look at the bucket again, attempting to push the visions to the back of his mind. The water was still there, clear and calm, reflecting the sky above like a mirror. He debating not touching the conjured water, but there was a reason Sunwillow had brought him here and gone through the strain of making it for him. No amount of stealthy movement would keep him hidden if he walked around stinking of warpstalker-intestines.

He knelt by the bucket and pulled his hood off, dropping it to the side. It was covered in dried blood, but that sort of cleaning would have to wait for their return to Quel'thalas. He folded the tabard neatly and placed it on top of his hood along with his Eclipsion insignia, they were both more or less alright for wearing. His gloves needed a wash, so he put those to the side, and then glanced back to the priestess again. She looked relaxed, apparently amusing herself by watching her fellow Eclipsions and blowing more or less successful smoke rings into the air. She had yet to turn around.

The buckles of his armour opened easily. He shrugged out of the soft, thick jacket and put it on the ground next to him, shivering as the thin wool shirt soaked with sweat and dried blood offered no protection against the gentle gust of wind. With a bit of creative manouvering, he got out of the offending shirt and looked down at himself. No skin had been broken this far during their second deployment to Argus. Still, the bruise that decorated most of his left side covered the bones that had been broken by a construct only a day ago. Meyren inhaled deeply, watching the mended bones shift beneath the purple and blackened skin.

Healers. A luxury he was starting to get used to. All he had to do was ask. One question, and gentle hands would knit bone and flesh back together, never asking for anything in return, just giving and giving until they could no longer stand on their feet. And now a healer had taken that extra step of not only conjuring him a bucket of water, she also kept watch and provided company.

It was infuriating and wonderful all at once.

He pressed his fingertips to the jagged, black edge of the bruise, pressing painfully on the sore but healed ribs underneath, then ran his hands over the older, faded scars striping his side, making sure he would remember. Remember a time when healing had been a rare privilege, something that had been held just out of reach. He swallowed and picked up the intensely flowery smelling soap that Sunwillow had offered him, focusing on the scent of it to try and keep the void from darkening his thoughts.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the conjured water, one side of his face bruised twice, once by a fellow Eclipsion's steel gauntlet, and again by the surprising turn of a construct's attack. Meyren looked at himself for only a moment longer before plunging his hand into the water to erase the image. Sunwillow hummed a cheerful little tune in the Ibackground as he started scrubbing himself and his armor, the soap coating him in the scents of Quel'thalas in summer. Cold and wet but clean, he quickly dressed himself and picked up the flowery soap. Sunwillow greeted him with the expression he never managed to figure out, lewdness, honesty and comforting warmth rolled up into one smile as she promptly spun him around and started dragging a comb through his hair while filling his ears with lighthearted chatter.

It was not in him to protest. He let the lingering ache of his ribs remind him of the power those hands held, the power she and her fellow healers had over life and death within their little unit of Quel'thalas' finest. A unit he had by some unfathonable stroke of luck managed to both join -and- stay alive in.

He watched them now, in between having his head yanked backwards as Sunwillow encountered a particularly challenging knot. Some of the Eclipsions were being looked after by those closest to them, others curled up in corners, attempting to catch some much needed rest. The dark cloaks of the Blood Knights danced lazily in the mild breeze where they stood surveying the lay of the land at the terrace. He half closed his eyes and spotted his fellow spectres, one by one. A few of them were on guard. Stardreamer stood over by one of the steps, counting her remaining arrows with her fingertips. He looked over to the other set of stairs, where Qu'eltaes stood, likely having volunteered for first watch as usual.

Meyren blinked to get rid of the feeling that his eyelids were getting peeled from his head as Sunwillow battled the tangles. The ranger had apparently either not noticed the two of them over by the hedge, or she had elected to ignore them. Meyren's brows pulled together in a frown that only lasted until Sunwillow slapped him on the bottom and declared him cleaned and combed, ushering him to rejoin the others.

He did so, eyeing the ranger all the while as he carefully made his way around the plaza, making sure he was out of sight of anyone who could catch him doing something he was probably not supposed to do.

Qu'eltaes. The freak tooth-stealer. His tongue found the gap where he had removed the molar just a day ago, dead and loose at it was after taking both a hit with a plated gauntlet and a not too gentle slap from a construct within two days. He could not remember if it was her or Starkhaven who had the tooth by now, but he was going to get it back and throw it off the edge of Argus. He might have handed his life over to the Blade and between them and his life at home he did not have too much control over what happened to him, but this one battle was one he was determined to fight to the end.

That tooth was going to rot in the Twisting Nether.