here's to the nights we felt alive

"From what I understand, the woman who birthed me wouldn't know how to heal so much as a scratch" she said. Voice frank, and without the pain that had plagued her for much of her younger life. The jagged edges of that hurt had worn smooth with time. She had - probably - a mother out there somewhere who she had never met. And a brother, whom she had but wanted nothing to do with her. She had learned to live with it.

"Don't worry, it'll only be for a few days." She promised him. He'd gotten off lucky with this bite. It warmed her that he had come straight to her with the wound. It spoke of a level of trust between them. He hadn't seen her heal, but he had believed in her anyway. It helped a little to sooth something inside of her that had been in unrest since she had failed her daughter. He trusted her, and that meant something.

"We?" She said, a smile on her lips as she took the marigold and hooked it up to dry. If he wanted to learn how to make the salve, she would be more then happy to teach him.