Date: 17.07.2683 (12.15.09)
Location: Stormhaven, Xanadu
People: Galina, Tenebrous
Synopsis: Middle of the night, after Echoes of an Epiphany. Nightmares are eventually quelled with conversation and a medicinal massage.
The pleasantness of the afternoon at Stormhaven has given way to a blustery spring evening in the tiny clearing. Fierce winds blow down from the mountain, but within the shell of stone that serves as Tenebrous' home, it's only a lonely whisper, a chill promise of what awaits should someone step out of the cave's confines. Near one of the cave's rear walls, the fire ha all but gone out, its coals laying in wait for the morning's turning, or the night banking of someone willing to wake up enough to attempt it. Low clouds roll across the sky, allowing the silver glow of the moon in occasional patches only. Surly thunder rombles from above the spine of the mountains beyond the spine, and the promise of a cold rain moistens the air within the cave itself.
Something has brought Tenebrous up from his shallow, dreamless sleep, and he stands now, leaning on the wall closer to the mouth of the falls in his sleeping pants, his long coat over one arm. Listening.
Sleep has not had her in its grip for long, but it's been enough time for nightmares to bubble to the fore of her mind and for her to have since twisted half off the bedroll and onto the stone. The blanket is an unfortunate tangle at her feet, which is the only part of her to have the good sense to have stayed fully on the roll. Her hair's unbound, dark hair transmuted into a shroud stroked with moonlit silver, and one arm stretched out limply across the chill stone as if caught in the effort of struggling for something forever beyond her reach and it had finally given up the effort. Galina is rolled more or less onto her belly, the edge of the journal visible beneath her chest — safe, it would appear, from any who might attempt to retrieve it. She is asleep, but barely, her breathing steady but with a quavering edge and veiled features twisted and frozen in an expression that is, at best, described as pained.
Something about the out of doors has Tenebrous' attention almost wholly at that point and he absently begins slipping his feet into his sturdy woodsman's boots, slinging that jacket over his bare chest and pulling the hood down over his face, despite the lack of light in the cave. He pats his pockets for aomething before making a small noise int the back of his throat and turning towards the firepit. There can he see Galina, dimly lit by th moon and the occasional patch of in-cloud lightning. For a mere moment, he's quite still, weighing the options that immediately spring to his mind. But only a moment, and he's soon moving towards her on silent feet, kneeling down off to one side of her frame. He reaches out with one ungloved hand, warm fingers gently brushing the few strands of hair away from her face. When her obviously pained expression isn finally seen, he purses his lips, laying that hand gently to rest on the side of her head. "Galina," he calls quietly, his voice low in his chest. That hand slips down to her shoulder and he gives it a gentle squeeze. "Galina," he calls again, trying not to raise his voice. "Wake for me," he coaxes quietly.
Her fingers convulse, scrabbling maddeningly for a moment on the stone before sharply retracting; she recoils from the touch as if bitten and she contracts upon herself with the book at the heart, something sleep-slurred and inarticulate spilling from her lips before awareness finally manifests. But Galina's eyes don't open, not at first; no, they squint tighter shut and three breaths taken in to steady herself and her thoughts before she dares risk opening them. Even then, they're mere slits of gray, just enough to take in what little needs to be taken in to confirm location and the person waking her. She does not move. "… you should be sleeping," are the first words to properly come from her mouth, slow and sluggishly observational, still weighted with the remains of troubled sleep.
"Yes," Tenebrous rumbles quietly. In the near darkness of the cave, he's virtually invisible beneath his coat and hood, and shapeless darkness upon darkness that slowly rises away from Galina's side. "I would say the same to you, but…" He shrugs, the coat rustling around him. "There's a storm coming in, and I need to check on a few things outside. I was going to stir up the coals to keep you warn before I left, when I saw you sprawled away from your bedroll." No one's mincing words here. "You didn't look like you were particularly enjoying the cold stone of the floor…I apologize if I should not have woken you…"
"No, it is fine. I would not have slept much longer, if that were the case." Sleep is not something that agrees well with her, a fact made clear in the downward curve of her mouth. Galina pulls herself back onto the bedroll, though not to lie down; instead, she sits as before, legs folded and twisted aside, book in lap. The blanket is eventually retrieved and drawn over her legs as a matter of nothing more than having something for her hands to do, her head finally lifting to regard the shadow-shape evenly, if a bit blearily around the edges. A cool palm is lifted, dragged across the side of her face only to vanish into her hair to start pulling it back and away from her face. "What do you need to check on?"
"A few items that I left outside, earlier in the day. I did not anticipate the storm arrving for another day yet, but the spring has been fickle with her weather for several sevendays now. I will not be long." He steps around the other side of Galina's bedroll, making his way over ot the fire pot. There he squats, only long enough to retrieve something, before moving back towards the mouth of the cave. There he stirs, if only briefly, and murmurs, "Preserve…" Then, without any warning at all, there's a small explosion of light in the form of a pillar of golden flame that rises up out of Tenebrous' palm. Beneath his hood, he smiles slightly at something before closing his fingers around the blaze and snapping his arm down to his side. The flames vanish with a small huff of sound, plunging the cave bak into darkness. "Thank you," he's heard murmuring to…who? Then, a bit louder, "Stay here, healer. I'll return shortly." And then his presence is gone, silently bleeding into the darkness that is the cave wall near the entrance to the waterfall.
And from her, there is nothing. No sound, no movement, no acknowledgement of his words. Perhaps it simply isn't necessary. The flare of fire is unseen, though the aftereffects are easily noted by the glint of light on the walls of the cave. Only after he's gone does she stir, though at first only to hunt for the bit of thong to bind her hair back again. After another minute or so, she finally rises to her feet, the book at long last left alone to allow her to take a few steps away and stretch out muscles that are no doubt sore from both swimming and from remaining so utterly still for so long. The slow, fluid movements are familiar only to her; ritualistic.
Tenebrous's return comes without warning, already silent footsteps impossible to hear over the low moan of the wind and the basso rumble of the thunder in the skies. "If you're sure, I have a bit of ointment. My own stock. Perhaps a bit of numbweed, and tea as well, if you still find yoursel fin pain." That form bleeds back out from the cave wall, amorphous as the wind takes his coat for a moment. "You didn't look…very comfortable when I saw you sleeping," he admits calmly. A bag with a few oddsa and ends is set to rest by the cave's entrance. "I would apply it for you, if you wish, or I can simply leave you be, if you think it's unnecessary?" The last is as much a question as it is a statement, and offer without awkwardness. Seemingly done with words, he legs a camp stoll over near the mouth of the cave and sits on it to regard the falls, and the storm that brews beyond.
Skyward reaching fingers stretch, wither, and drop, her shoulders rolling momentarily forward before squaring again. It's a backwards look that he earns, a slow blink, and an eventual, if flat, "At least I did not have anything to fall off of. It could have been worse." The whisper of bare feet on stone goes unheard as she turns, arms loosely folded at her midsection and head canted in a peculiarly birdlike fashion as she watches him. Regardless of the fact that all was freely offered, she prefaces her response with, "If it is not an imposition." Pause. "Tea," is a definite 'yes', with a moment's worth of hedging for the latter before acquiescing with, "My back, if you would not mind. I can reach everything else that is sore."
"As you wish," Tenebrous offers softly. "Let me start a bit of water to boil and we'll see about your back." He pauses for a moment before, "You may find it more convinient to remove your gown for the duration of the treatment. My ointment doesn't smell particularly bad, but I wouldn't wna tot get any excess on your clothing." He gestures to one of the satchels along the wall nearest her. "I have a few spare pairs of light sleeping pants there. You should be able to pull the drawstrings more than tightly enough to suit your needs, if that's an option you'd like to explore." Then he's moving towards the fire, and a few moments later, the glow of freshly turned coals can be seen casting low, primal waves of heat to their nearby area. A low grate and a pot of water are slid into position a moment later, and then Tenebrous is divesting himself of his coat, his skin ruddy and red in the low light. "If you would like, I can offer you a spare blanket to drape yourself with while I work."
"Understood." There's a shallow nod for the offer, a knowing quirk of her mouth — a ointment that smelled out-and-out /good/ simply wouldn't be an effective ointment, after all. Off to the satchels, then, where she pokes, prods, and probes until finding the indicated pants. "It is a better option than the alternative. I still have the other blanket," she points out, even as she turns her back to him and steps into the pants. Up, drawn tight, and finally tied, she crinkles her nose just a little bit after taking a step or two. The pants are fussed with, but to no avail; it's just one of those odd things that she's simply not accustomed to. There's a look back to him, quiet and studious, before her blanket is retrieved, and, with her back to him once again, the gown itself is finally unbuttoned with the deft fingers of a hand. As that second skin is shed, the blanket is brought up, arms criss-cross folded to pin it in place; where the swimsuit might have done a fine job of hinting at just how prominent some of her bones are, it's made starkly evident in the glow cast by the fire. Another over-the-shoulder glance is spared. "Whenever you are ready."
Tenebrous gestures to Galina's bedroll then. "You can lay down, if you wish, or simply sit and lean over, though I suspect laying down would feel better for you." A quick trip to one of his more worn and beaten satchels has him retrieving an actual stone pot, rather than a wooden or plastic one, one that's been glazed to seal its pores. It gleams in the firelight as Tenebrous approaches her, and the instant he removes the little crock's lid, the scent of the ointment is in the air. It's thick and heady with the scent of fresh herbs and plantlife, and one can almost smell the vibrant earth that the ingredients came from along with it. It's not really a bad smell, but it hasn't been perfumed in any way to aid with masking the scent. "Your tea will be ready in a few minutes," he offers as an aside.
For the suggestion, there's only a mute nod of acceptance and then compliance, though it does take some fidgeting on her part to figure out the closest approximation of comfortable that she can manage while being on her belly. Her arms tuck under her and her head lowers, forehead to the bedroll and her hair naturally falling away to leave her shoulders free from any meddlesome entanglements. "It can stay ready for a while," Galya replies, words muffled but still audible. A breath is taken, held, and released before her voice lifts again in query, "What did you use to make it with?"
Tenebrous kneels down next to Galina's form, taking a moment to rub his hands together to warm them before he simply lays them on Galina's shoulders, warm skin to skin. "Have you ever had anyone do this to you before?" he asks quietly. "You seem…reserved enough that I felt I should ask. I found myself in a similar situation some time ago, and…it was awkward for me, being unused to such things." Thus his hands, quietly accustoming themselves to Galina's skin, and her to his.
Her skin is still a bit cool and thin, but smooth; at that first touch, she instinctively tenses, though it's not long before she's reasonably relaxed. It's a while before she does answer, her head finally twisting to a side and arms shifting up to provide a crude pillow to rest her cheek on. "No," Galya murmurs, one eye cracking open just enough to observe him through her peripheral vision, the rest of her features masked by the sharp angle of her shoulder and arm. "But, I trust you."
Tenebrous smiles down at her, even if it's a bit tired. "I'll try not to see it misplaced then," he murmurs. "Close your eyes, if you wish…Relax. Just like the pool. Let me do the work…" And work he does. Only after her flesh is warm under his hands does he dip into the pot itself, coming up with a small, but sufficient gobbet of ointment. It's gently rubbed between his fingers to warm it to body temparature before his hands return to her shoulders, and the rubbing begins. "To answer your question," he says, "Several things…A bit of oak and rosemary…various mints and the obligatory amount of numbweed, all from my personal stores…" His voice trails off as he works, his face a mask of concentration. At first, his touch is light, gauging the strength of her various tissues, but he slowly increases pressure as he works. Slow, small circles give way to larger ones. An 'application' in his mind is clearly something more along the lines of a medical massage. "Let me know if it hurts," he whispers.
"It will be difficult to do, now that it has been placed." The words are closer to a sigh than a whisper. Yet, that eye remains stubbornly half-open, a sliver of pale gray intent on studying him without any hint of tiredness to be found. "I will," is muted reassurance. Galina is, at least, compliant; there is no fidgeting, no moving, and no further tensing of her back … just a quiet complacency that isn't fully reflected in her half-lidded gaze.
Somehow, Tenebrous manages to convey a hushing motion onto his face as he works, his features frowning at certain points, and smiling slightly in others, progress and then regress as he works the same areas in Galina's shoulders over and over again. The small portion of numbweed is felt after a time, spreading out from his fingertips as though he, himself were somehow responsible for that relief. "I have to move your blanket a little," he warns her softly, keeping his voice as low as he can to avoid overly startling the woman. And then he does, uncovering small patches of her back at a time to do his work. Fresh balm is applied to each section as he works it, long fingers and strong palms urging muscles to relax as flesh is rolled beneath them. As he works, his lips move silently, his subvocalization only heard between the crackles of the fire. His expression is that of a man lost in his work, consumed with the woman beneath his hands, absorbed with the flesh at his fingertips.
Where a smile would not be the sort of thing to linger on her lips, it's caught in lingeing glimpses of her eye; in due time, her eyelid flutters, shuts, and is reluctant to open again. Thus is Galina consumed in a reflection of his own consumption, swallowed up in the relief fanning outward from his kneading fingers and the blend of dull warmth and numbness that eventually overtakes her flesh. Her gaze opens upon him again at his words, just enough to acknowledge that they're heard and nothing more. At his hands, she is reverted — from brittle porcelain to clay, malleable where once there was only rigidity. Such is the power of blind trust.
In time, Tenebrous simply moves much of the blanket away to clear Galina's back to work on. The blanket itself is piled up on either side of her, hiding anything that modesty would demand be hidden. A last daub of ointment is placed between his hands before he begins again, robbing his thumbs along her lower back, starting at her spine and flaring out towards her hips on either side, urging those most tense of places to relent, if only for a moment. The last vestiges of clear conciousness are pushed away even as Tenebrous begins simply running his palms up her back. So much smaller is she that he can cover nearly all of her skin with each passing, forcing tense muscles to relent…and pushing the nagging need to stay awake out in the aether as well. Only when Galina is quite still does Tenebrous stop, his face gravely pleased at what he has wrought. Slow movements bring several blankets to bear around the woman, making sure her feet are bundled up as well, and then he slides away, making sure that the water, the fire, and the rest of the evening are all in their place.
