#la curandera

[jonathan-parra-acero]

♪ La palma curandera de la mano suya

alivia de mi pena la dolenciaaa ♪

[folkmania]

Carmen Lomas Garza, La Curandera, ca. 1974, hand-colored etching and aquatint on paper, image: 13 7⁄8 x 17 3⁄4 in. (35.3 x 45 cm) sheet: 16 1⁄2 x 20 3⁄8 in. (41.9 x 51.8 cm), Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Tomás Ybarra-Frausto, 1995.50.60, © 1974, Carmen Lomas Garza

[betweenthebarses]

Curate mi niña con amor del más bonito.

Natalia Lafourcade

[switchkick]

Curanderismo: Mexican American Folk Healing by Robert T. Trotter II & Juan Antonio Chavira

“At least six major historical influences have shaped thebeliefs and practices of curanderismo by Mexican Americans in the Lower Rio Grande Valley: Judeo-Christian religious beliefs, symbols, and rituals; early Arabic medicine and health practices (combined with Greek humoral medicine, revived during the Spanish Renaissance); medieval and later European witchcraft; Native American herbal lore and health practices; modern beliefs about spiritualism and psychic phenomena; and scientific medicine. None of these influences dominates curanderismo, but each has had someimpact on its historical development.”

[ibuprofeno-s]

Cúrate mi niña con amor del más bonito, y recuerda que tú eres la medicina.

[iamwinklebottom]

Santa Muerte La Rosada Rose Quartz Glass Seed Bead Necklace: Love, Self Love, Self Worth & More

This beautiful handmade piece will be charged with the pink aspect of Santa Muerte on my personal Santa Muerte altar until purchased. Santa Muerte La Rosada has assisted me with self love extremely without causing negativity to sprout from loving myself so much.

THESE SEED BEADS ARE OPAQUE PEARL COLORED… NOT OPAQUE WHITE… WITH GENUINE ROSE QUARTZ AND WOOD!

This stone is a gentle usherer into truth. Rose Quartz are beautiful and power crystals. I personally believe that it is now overlooked because of how easily available it is.

Rose Quartz is very beneficial; when worked with closely is will improve your self worth and self love. It will add love in all areas of your life high vibrationally and open your eyes to see where your love is being misdirected. These pink stones also help you heal your heart chakra and inner child.

It is very good for the energetic heart space, but also works well in healing and maintaining physical heart and overall chest health. Rose Quartz also purifies the fluids in the body and assists with the circulatory systems. Please be sure to do your own research; I find new things all the time.

Channeled Message For Buyer: “In order to be blessed with unwavering divine love,

… you must master divinely loving yourself,” - Santa Muerte La Rosado

Length: 12”

[pvrseide]

( @ihuerfanas​ )               ‘  ¿eres invitado de mi abuela?  ’  pregunta después de haberse detenido en el marco de la entrada de su casa al detectar presencia desconocida, acostumbrada a que la gente del pueblo acudiera por los servicios de doña marce pero aún así sorprendida por la hora que era.  ‘  ¿ella ya sabe que estás aquí? ¿puedo ofrecerte algo?  ’

[paseodementiras]

Vida de María Sabina. La sabia de los hongos

I

No sé en qué año nací, pero mi madre María Concepción me dijo que fue en la mañana del día en que se celebra a la Virgen Magdalena, allá en Río Santiago, agencia del municipio de Huautla.

-Álvaro Estrada

[inabooknook]

The Haunting of Alejandra by V. Castro

The premise of this book was so interesting. Alejandra, the main character is stuck with a generational curse, the curse of La Llorona who has followed her since the birth of her daughter. The story was so well done, and very informative and interesting. I learned a lot of things about curanderas, La Llorona herself, and Mexican-American culture that I would not have known about before. The story follows Alejandra as she starts experiencing more and more serious run ins with the curse, and goes about trying to handle the situation without causing worse things to occur. As I said, the story was nothing like anything I have read before, which honestly was a breath of fresh air since I was able to find out about things outside my usual realm of understanding. I would highly recommend this book to anyone who likes supernatural things, but also enjoys mysteries.

This ebook was provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

[amespeciale]

Chi davvero vuole può.

Ma per potere e volere,

bisogna prima sapere e,

soprattutto, osare.

Hernan Huarache Mamani

La profezia della Curandera

[ghostwise]

Matacuervos, ch. 8 - La curandera Rated M, 3.2k words - cw: child injury, discussions of trauma and slavery Zevran and Hamal's time in Rialto comes to an end, but they leave behind more questions than answers. Read update on AO3 - Read from the beginning

The door shuddered under Zevran’s fist.

They were standing outside the apartments at La joya. It was late, still dark, though not for long; the night had stretched thinly out into the small hours of the morning. He was tired. His head ached. He wasn’t even sure if this would work. He was also worried that at any given moment the child would wake up.

If the child woke up, surely she would try to flee, as any child ought to when finding herself injured and in the company of strangers. What would they do then?

Giving Hamal a nervous look, Zevran turned to knock on the door once more. In that moment it opened.

Elena stood inside, dressed in a nightgown and overcoat. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she pulled them in at once.

“A doctor,” Zevran said.

“I’ll find the curandera,” Elena replied. “Where did that child come from?”

“We rescued her.”

“What happened to her?”

“Stunned,” he said. “By a mage.”

“I take it that means you found the man you were looking for?”

“He is dead.”

Without yesterday’s host of prostitutes and friends, the parlor felt spacious, even empty. Elena led them to a small bedroom in the back. It was a tidy room with the smell of dried jasmine flowers, an old bed, and a votive to Andraste upon the dresser.

“Sangre del Creador,” she exclaimed.

Hamal carefully set the child upon the bed. He placed a hand on her forehead, then looked up at Zevran with a frown. “She has a fever,” he said. “Fiebre.”

“There is water in the kitchen,” Elena said curtly. “Bring her some!”

“Where-?” Zevran began to ask, but Elena had already whisked her way out of the bedroom. He followed at her heels.

“Left of the wash basin,” she replied. “Stay here! I’ll be back soon with the healer!”

The door slammed shut in her haste. Zevran stared after her a moment, then set upon the drawers.

He dug through wooden spoons and matchsticks, rolls of twine, and linen washcloths folded neatly. Grabbing one, he quickly arranged a washcloth and a bowl of cool water, then returned to the bedroom, where Hamal knelt beside the bed and gazed upon the injured child.

“Why is she so warm?” Hamal asked as Zevran held the damp cloth to her forehead. “Is she sick?”

“Head injuries can cause temperature sometimes,” Zevran murmured. “She will be alright.”

The words came out in practiced calm. He did not give them any thought; he was simply saying what people ought to say in these situations. When he glanced down at his husband, he was surprised to find him kneeling with his eyes shut and his head bowed. For a moment, he thought he was praying to the Creators. Then he realized he was shivering.

Zevran eased a hand onto his shoulder. He was not surprised when Hamal reached, haltingly, to cover it with one of his own.

.

Elena was gone for a good half hour, though she ran as quickly as she could the distance between the brothel and the neighborhood healer. The healer was accustomed to being roused at night, or whenever a local emergency called for her skills. She had lived in her apartment for decades, and had looked after the whores at La joya even longer.

The old woman was not an apostate—though such people did exist, they were hard to come by, and Antiva’s Circle mages provided healing only to the most privileged noble families—but she was versed in old knowledge of medicinal herbs and traditional remedies. She had lived a long and varied life, and carried all that knowledge inside her withered frame. So when she said she needed time to gather her supplies, Elena fretted and wrung her hands, but allowed her to take as long as she needed.

One did not argue with Mirna the curandera.

When they finally returned the child was awake, and had begun to vomit. Zevran had found a bucket to contain the bile, as Hamal held her hair back and helped her stay upright. But their business was not in healing, and the only tools they had were their arrows and knives.

“She has been like this for a few minutes,” Zevran said. “We do not have anything to give her-”

“A mage’s concussive blast,” the older woman murmured in her deep and dry voice. “Arnica for the pain. Rabo de zorro for the fever. Ice for the swelling. Prayer for the rest. Allow me.”

She stepped in smoothly, pushing the men out of the way in a manner that was somehow kind, yet brooked no argument. And while Zevran would hesitate to admit it, it was a relief.

“Thank the Maker,” he sighed, and dropped into a seat by the curtained window.

It was in the healer’s hands now. His own headache had worsened. Now he rather felt like a stiletto knife had driven into his skull.

The curandera’s voice, arid as the high-wind season, cut through his mental haze: “Brew a strong tea, with just a scoop of these herbs and a kettle full of water. One cup for the girl, two for the man.”

“Smells like snakeweed,” Hamal observed in Common. “I did not know we had this sort of plant up here. It will help your headache.”

“I’m fine. Just tend to the girl,” Zevran murmured.

Elena shot both of them an incisive glance. But she made the tea as instructed, leaving them to their foreign conversing.

After that, no one spoke for a while. There was o nly the sound of the child heaving and a kettle whistling on the wood stove. Somehow the candle-lit night in Elena’s apartment cradled these, and everything felt quiet. It was hard to believe that at this very moment Rocio could be on her way to a jail cell…

Zevran felt a cup of hot tea pressed into his hands.

“Elena,” he said, and then he paused, uncharacteristically uncertain. He looked up at her, frowning. Perhaps he was more dazed than he realized. “It is Elena, isn’t it? We spoke so briefly. I must tell you. Rocio-”

“Where is she?” Elena asked in a hiss.

Zevran hesitated. He always recognized affection by the fangs it bared.

“By now she is probably turning herself over to the city guard.”

“Why? What happened?”

Zevran glanced at Hamal. Still, he knew it had to be him to tell the tale; Hamal’s Antivan was not fluent enough to explain, and their window of time was shrinking. But he was also unsure how much he should say. He was wondering about the woman at the head of the bed, the curandera, who was easing tea into the young girl’s mouth.

“Some gall you have to bring an injured child to my doorstep in the dead of night,” Elena said, voice unexpectedly sharp, “and play coy in front of the healer. Talk!”

“You’re right, of course,” Zevran said, sufficiently chastised. “My apologies.”

So he began. He spoke slowly, trying to condense the tale as much as possible, both for the sake of urgency and for his own aching head.

“We tracked the slaver and attempted to capture him outside the brothel, El milagro. He had an arrangement with the owner there… to transport two children under the guise of bringing them to a school in Salle. We confronted him… wounded him, and we nearly succeeded in capturing him, but the man was an apostate. He used his magic to escape. Rocio was the one who finally stopped him, and killed him.”

“I don’t understand.” Elena shook her head. “There’s more to it, there must be. She is not a violent woman!”

“No,” Zevran assented. “But she is a brave one.”

Elena made a frustrated sound, turning away.

“She recognized him as the man who’d stolen her friends away, years ago,” Zevran said. “I recognized him, also. He has been plying his trade in Rialto for decades.” He shook his head. “No longer. Rocio did what was necessary. After that, she could have easily chosen to claim her innocence. But she realized that she needed to admit her hand in this murder, in order to expose his crimes.”

“So she’s playing martyr,” Elena said bitterly.

“She needs your help.” Zevran paused again, somewhat unsteady. At Hamal’s urging, he drank some of the snakeweed tea. It quelled his headache some, and parched a thirst he hadn’t recognized with everything else going on.

Meanwhile, Elena grappled with what she’d heard.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Rocio wants to bring the people who are behind all this to justice,” Zevran said. “Not only this man, but whatever allies he might have; we discovered that the owner and manager of El milagro are involved. And who knows how many others. Rocio has asked that you keep the child safe, and tell everyone in the Society of Pleasures what has happened. Tomorrow you will receive a visit from a woman, Nadia. She is trustworthy. She will tell you more. Lastly,” he added, and this was the tricky part, the part he was dreading, “You must not mention me or my companion. To anyone.”

“Why not?” Elena demanded.

“Because I was once a member of the Antivan Crows. I have deserted my House. Now I aim to destroy the Crows and anyone who supports them. So you see… our association would only harm her.”

She stared at him.

The admission felt bold, after all he had been through tonight. At least it had served to quell Elena’s myriad of questions.

“It’s curious,” Zevran continued. “When we came to Rialto, we thought only to investigate my past. Then, to kill the man who had sold me into that life. We did not intend for all of this to happen… and yet we do not regret it. We have rescued a child! She is safe now, thanks to Rocio, and Nadia, and you. But we cannot be a part of what happens next. That falls to you and the others.”

“And what are you going to do, Crow?” Elena asked, still aiming her furious gaze at him.

“That is something you are better off not knowing,” Zevran said. “It will be bloody work.”

With a flare of her nostrils, Elena exhaled harshly. She looked at him one last time with a withering intensity, before dropping her face into her hands and releasing a shuddering sigh.

“Cio,” she said simply.

With that, the message was delivered. Zevran drank the rest of his tea.

Though he felt no guiltier than he had yesterday, or a week ago, or his entire life, he couldn’t help but feel bad for Elena. He’d tasked her with a great burden. He tried to comfort himself by thinking that Elena had a say in the matter. But she didn’t. None of them did.

“As I said,” Zevran said, gently. “Nadia will come. Hear her out, then decide. You can, if you prefer, have nothing to do with all this.” He said it even as he knew it was impossible. It was clear that Elena had no choice, not when Rocio was involved.

Much like himself with the Warden, he thought. The comparison felt tender, and he looked at Hamal, finding a sense of relief in the steady and attentive gaze he was met with.

Sensing his meaning, Hamal responded with a stern nod. Then, he rose to his feet and picked up their rucksacks, looking at the door.

“We will go now,” Hamal said in gentle and accented Antivan. “Thank you for the tea.”

Mirna, who had calmed the child’s illness and fever and had been listening quietly all this while, turned her attention back to the adults in the room.

“Sit down, Elena,” she said gently. “You have a lot to think about. I will walk your guests out.”

Thus depleted of anger, Elena sat at the edge of the bed. After all, one did not argue with the curandera.

.

As Mirna walked Zevran and Hamal towards the front door, she tugged gently at Hamal’s sleeve. She addressed him in rusty Common, quiet, so only he and Zevran would hear.

“Ey. You Fereldan? Dalish?”

Hamal blinked in surprise. He did not answer until they had left the apartment entirely, until they were all three standing in the cool morning air, with the warm apartment and the weeping child and Elena’s worry shut within, and the first signs of dawn visible over the city. He exchanged a glance with Zevran before nodding.

“How did you know?” he replied.

“Mirna know everything,” she said with a smile. “A wild story, I bet. And what about you, güero? Was you said is true?”

“All of it,” Zevran affirmed.

“Mmm!” she hummed, impressed and full of approval. “In that case, I wish you luck. Crows are big deal. But! You should know, you forgotting something.” She tapped her right ear a few times. When Zevran did not understand, she sighed. “The girl!”

“The girl,” Zevran repeated, and then Mirna’s gesture made sense. His eyes widened. “She heard everything.”

“Yes,” Mirna said. “She hear. But she no speak. She try. Just one time, while you all talking. She-” Here, Mirna made a wordless opening and closing motion with her mouth, held a hand to her throat, then she spread her hands outward to indicate futility. “She no speak. Maybe, soon. Who can say?”

“Poor child,” Hamal said.

“Yes,” Mirna agreed. “But no worry. I will help. You come back someday and see.”

“Do you think it’s wise?” Zevran asked, surprised. They were leaving a lot of loose ends and unanswered questions. But Rialto was in his blood. That he’d return one day, even if it was years from now, seemed unavoidable. Maybe Mirna knew this. After all, she spoke with such a calm certainty.

“Wait some while, then come back,” she told him. “Maybe Elena’s ladyfriend is free then. Maybe girl speak then. Maybe we talk more then, or maybe I’m dead then! But until then, I pray for you. I light a candle.” She paused, gnarled hands producing a small leather pouch out of her pocket. “Take more tea. For the ache.”

Zevran regarded her carefully. “My good woman, thank you. It occurs to me that we do not even know your name.”

“Mirna,” she said, and then, before he could respond, “No no—you no tell me yours. Bad luck.”

Zevran nodded. He took the pouch from her, and he didn’t argue.

“Maker be with you, Doña Mirna.”

“And with you. Maker and Creators, too.”

.

It was only after several hours of travel, long after the last of Rialto’s towers was out of view, that the fleeing pair finally allowed themselves to rest.

They had followed the coastline south for a time, before pushing further inland so as to be obscured by the forest. While Zevran knew Antiva like the back of his hand, this was true of its cities and its people; the only wilderness he had explored was the Drylands.

But that was another tale. Come to find out, Rialto was surrounded by grassy plains and gnarled trees. The city was nestled near a perfect broadleaf forest, completely unlike those in Ferelden.

Under the shade of a tall sycamore, Hamal judged it safe enough to light a small fire. With its heat they brewed more tea, and roasted freshly-caught fish rubbed with sea salt and herbs. They were both famished, their last meal having been tavern gruel more than a full day before.

Hamal worked silently for a time, wholly focused on turning the fish against the fire. Zevran wondered if he was in one of his quiet moods; it was fine, if so. He himself had a lot on his mind. So much so that, when Hamal did speak, it surprised him.

“Ma serannas, vhenan,” Hamal said at length.

Zevran looked at him. “Whatever for?”

“You know.”

In fact, he did.

It was a shorthand they were developing together, and it felt terribly domestic. Love was sticky sweet. Sometimes like honey, sometimes like resin. Hamal understood Zevran’s disappointment. He didn’t need to ask and Zevran didn’t need to say it.

But his head still hurt, so he changed the subject.

“We still have the documents I found in Antiva City,” he said, forcing his voice to stay level. “And ledgers I copied from El milagro’s books, when I interrogated Amilcar. We should search them for clues as to what to do next. I think all signs point to Salle as our next destination. It’s a port city. Worth investigating if only for that reason.”

“Good idea,” Hamal said with a slow nod. Zevran glanced away.

The fish curled and charred in the fire, their scales scalding, their eyes whiting out and bulging.

“I wonder,” Hamal said, quietly, “What Nadia will do.”

Zevran closed his eyes with a sigh.

“She still cares for Amilcar,” he said. “Whether Amilcar cares for her is another matter. The heart is an unpredictable thing. In any case, from here on out we must assume that Amilcar reported our involvement to the city guard.” Zevran frowned, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “That means they would know me by name and by background… and what the city guard knows, the Crows know.”

“Not good,” Hamal observed.

Zevran snorted. “It is far from ideal.”

“Unless Nadia goes through with it,” Hamal countered. “Unless she kills Amilcar.”

And there was the unpredictable variable, and the most pressing question: For it had been decided, whispered in that midnight plot outside El milagro, that Gloria Amilcar needed to die in order for their plan to succeed. And Nadia had insisted that she would be the one to do it

And why not? Amilcar had lied to her and the others for years. She had helped sell children into slavery. She had supported her employer’s corruption. And those were just the crimes they knew of. No doubt she had committed countless others over the years…

Zevran sighed and covered his face in his hands.

Hamal came to sit beside him. He leaned against him, and took his hands into his own.

“Eat,” Hamal instructed. He handed Zevran a leaf containing steaming flakes of cooked fish. The scent was sharp and enticing. Hamal had already pulled all the bones out for him, leaving only soft flesh.

Touched by the gesture, Zevran allowed himself to eat. Then tears sprang to his eyes.

“She killed my father,” he said suddenly.

Hamal looked at him, stunned. “What-?”

“Amilcar. He did not die, as I’d been told. Braska.” Zevran took a shuddering breath, and the words poured out of him in a tangled mess.

He’d been holding them back this whole time, his attention absorbed by other matters.

“That is why she kicked us out the first day we were in El milagro. That is why she seemed so anxious when she recognized me. You see? It was guilt! She told me as such, when I interrogated her.” A bitter laugh escaped him, his face turned up to the dappled sunlight. “I nearly ended her when she admitted it. Rossi tasked the Crows with my father’s death, and Amilcar knew! My whole life, she knew!”

“Oh,” Hamal breathed. “Oh. Zev.”

“I only wish I could go back and find that bastard. Confront him! Show him what became of the boy he orphaned and sold! But look! If he dies now, Rocio will never get justice! So, he lives! Because he must! And I am still here, still orphaned, and no better for knowing the truth. Ah! What a joke it all is,” Zevran lamented, sorrowful even as Hamal embraced him. “What a joke.”

[imnotacat2112]

Sigue la letra C! Cinderpelt (Carbonilla)

Cinderpelt, gata gris oscuro con ojos azules. Ella fue curandera del Clan del Trueno.

Diseño hecho por mi.

////

Follow the letter C! Cinderpelt (Charcoal)

Cinderpelt, dark grey cat with blue eyes. She was a healer of the Thunder Clan.

Design made by me.

[ninifruu]

[mariadelrefugioquintana]

Las mujeres mágicas asustan al hombre corriente.

Aquellas mujeres que se declararon brujas, que no tienen miedo de las etiquetas, ni de los estigmas, esas mujeres ponen a tambalear al hombre inseguro.

Las mujeres bellas, y no hablo de un físico, hablo de una mirada, hablo de alma vibrante y un cerebro versátil, aquellas mujeres hacen dudar a un hombre, a ese que tiene miedo de que aquella loca despampanante.

Yo, soy curandera, soy maga, soy luna en cada una de sus facetas sin dejar de estar completa, compleja.

Yo soy letras, sexo, poesía, pecado, redención.

Soy rebeldía, soy libertad.

Y aún, pese a vivir "salvaje" en medio de un mundo de falsa moral, que te juzga de fácil o libertina por expresarte, por mostrarte como una mujer linda, "loca", sexual. Por ser cariñosa, poeta, bohemia y demás, soy de aquellas que entiende que la única forma de amar y de vivir, es siendo irremediablemente tú.

Aquellas que no tenemos temor de ser auténticas, sabemos, como lo leí cierta vez, que necesitamos un compañero que desee correr con lobos, que desee rituales de amor y que entienda, que somos tan mágicas, que cuando entregamos el corazón, encontramos mil y una formas diferentes de amar, de sacudir el alma y de sintonizar las energías.

Con una "lunática", como lo somos pocas, no habrá duda alguna, de que amar verdaderamente y en esencia, no es poseer, es deleitarse con la presencia y la imperfección del otro, porque nosotras las brujas, sabemos que la magia está en el corazón, y un hombre corriente, ese que quiere poseer, solo apagará la llama.

[rubywolffxxx]

Jinetes Bastardos (Jace x lectora)

Masterlist de mi autoría

Sinopsis: jace odiaba a los nuevos jinetes de su madre. Le recordaban lo inestable que era su reclamo del trono. No quería tenerlos cerca, pero cierta joven curandera no se rendiría hasta poder ablandar su corazón.

—Explícate bien.—Rhaenyra miraba a aquella joven en las costas de Dragonstone, sin terminar de creerse lo que estaba escuchando.

—Ya le dije, majestad. Fui al monte, en Vale... Soy curandera, bueno, estoy aprendiendo... Pero soy bastante buena y-

—Simplifica, niña.—un guardia la apuró.

—Juntaba flores, cuando un dragón apareció de la nada.—miró hacia el cielo, donde la dragona de tonos suaves volaba junto a Vermax—. Me asusté y le estampé un ramo de lavanda en el hocico, y parece que le gustó porque no se ha separado de mi... vine de inmediato, Aegon no era una opción válida para mi.—

—¿De qué casa eres, ____?—Rhaenyra la miró ansiosa—. ¿Descendiente de alguna casa importante?—

—Madre curandera. Padre... Inexistente, supongo.—levantó su ondulado cabello azabache, y Rhaenyra vio los suaves destellos blanquecinos ocultos entre el negro—. Pensé que tenía canas prematuras, pero ahora creo que no lo son.—

—... Pues felicidades entonces, eres una jinete ahora.—____ sonrió emocionada.

—¿Sunflower puede quedarse conmigo?—

—¿girasol? ¿Es en serio?—Rhaenyra la miró divertida.

—El mayor regalo que la naturaleza puede ofrecerle al ser humano, majestad... La flor más noble, hermosa y resistente.—

—Bueno, es un buen nombre, supongo.—

—Pero le digo Sunny para resumir.—la dragona rugió al escuchar su nombre.

Desde que ____ se presentó en Dragonstone, otro jinete más se unió. Y entonces Rhaenyra entendió que las semillas de dragón eran la solución. Aquello no le gustó nada a Jace, y por desgracia ese malhumor terminaba depositado en la joven curandera.

—Disculpe, mi príncipe.—Jace rodó los ojos al ver a aquella chica acercarse—. Me dijo la reina que se lastimó la mano entrenando... ¿Le molesta si le doy un vistazo?—

—No quiero tu ayuda.—

—Querer y necesitar... La fina brecha antes del desastre.—____ se acercó de todas formas, dejando una canastita sobre la mesa central del lugar—. ¿El orgullo le impide dejar que una pobre niña de Vale toque su mano?—Jace no dijo nada—. ¿O el hecho de que sea una bastarda lo hace?—

El príncipe se alejó enseguida, sentándose en el escritorio cubierto de pergaminos. ____ lo siguió de forma disimulada.

—Ustedes no deberían ser capaces de reclamar un dragón ¿Cómo... Qué imagen de la casa le damos al mundo?—la miró con frustración, y ____ entendió que el joven tenía mucho más dolor que el de una mano lesionada—. Incluso tú tienes algo de cabello blanco y yo...—

—Tú tienes un cabello genial ¿Cómo mantienes esos rizos perfectos?—Jace resopló apenas, y ____ con cuidado miró su mano para evaluar la herida.

—Tengo el cabello del guardia de mi madre... sin sangre real.—

—Tienes la misma sangre que los príncipes Lucerys y Joffrey ¿Me equivoco?—Jace no dijo nada—. Eso solo significa que tu madre apreciaba a este hombre... Él se mantuvo a su lado por años.—

—... Supongo.—

—¿Y sir Laenor? ¿Él te quiso?—sacó algunas vendas de su canasta.

—Como si fuera su hijo real...—

—Genial, entonces... Tuviste dos padres presentes más que yo.—Jace la miró, y solo entonces notó que su mano ya estaba vendada. Eso lo sorprendió—. Juré lealtad a tu madre, y nunca pondré en duda tu legitimidad, sin importar tu sangre.—se inclinó un poquito hacia él—. Si ante el mundo eres un bastardo... ¿Qué mejor forma de cerrarles la boca que con un ejército de ellos? Será un honor seguirlo a donde sea que nos guie.—

—... ¿Ejército bastardo? ¿En serio?—la vio sonreír.

—A veces me gusta pensar que Aemond tuvo que robar un dragón viejito... Y a mi, una simple bastarda, me eligió un dragón... Ah... Y tengo los dos ojos post selección.—

—Su dragón es el más grande vivo.—

—Si, bueno. Pero el mío no está senil.—Jace rió bajito, y ____ tomó eso como un alivio para el joven. No solo por la mano. Juntó sus cosas y se dirigió a la puerta—. No se rasque la mano y no moje las vendas... Mañana lo revisaremos ¿Si?—lo vio asentir—. Que descanse bien, príncipe heredero de magnífica cabellera.—hizo una leve reverencia antes de marcharse.

Esa noche, Rhaenyra se extrañó por no recibir a Jace con sus reclamos de siempre.

—¿Otra vez volvió a ganar?—Addam miró a Ulf, quien se acercó frustrado a él en la costa.

—... el mío es más grande.—

—Ah, que frase tan de pene corto.—____ se acercó risueña—. Pobre Silvy, le tocó un jinete patético.—

—¡Oye! Más respeto que soy mayor.—

—Si, claro. Lloriquear no te hará romper mi racha.—se quitó los guantes, para luego amarrar su cabello algo desordenado.

—Volemos entonces.—El trio de jinetes volteó hacia Jace, quien se acercaba a paso tranquilo.

Addam miró de inmediato a sus compañeros, extrañándose de que el príncipe finalmente se acercaba sin una cara de odio absoluto.

—Ah, me temo que las carreras bastardas solo están limitadas a bastardos plebeyos.—____ se cruzó de brazos expectante.

—Bueno, cumplo uno de los requisitos ¿Vuelas o no?—Jace la vio sonreír, y no pudo evitar hacerlo también.

—Bien... Pero dame un momento, Sunny esta cansada de destrozar el trasero de estos bastardos.—

—Que... Bastarda.—Ulf la miró indignado, y Addam rió con aquello.

—Dejen de decir la palabra con B tan a la ligera...—

Comenzaba a anochecer cuando el par de jóvenes se acomodó en la cima montañosa de Dragonstone.

—Hacia el norte hay una pequeña isla. Debemos ir hasta alli.—____ miró a Jace, quien terminaba de acomodarse en el lomo de Vermax—. Volvemos aquí, te bajas y el primero que toma su copa y se sirve un poco de vino gana... Bueno, yo me sirvo jugo de naranja porque no me gusta el vino.—

—Por los dioses...—Jace negó divertido.

—¿Listo, ricitos?—

—Romperé tu racha.—

—Si, si. Ulf dijo lo mismo.—

El par de jóvenes alzó vuelo y la carrera empezó. Eran veloces, muy veloces.

Tal vez estaban algo lejos, pero Jace escuchaba la lejana pero firme voz de ____ ordenando a su dragón. Su valyrio, a pesar de ser aún verde de aprendizaje, sonaba maravilloso.

La tarde atareada de Sunflower le pasó factura, por lo que bajó su velocidad y Jace tomó ventaja de eso. Aterrizó apresurado en la montaña, y quiso tomar la copa en cuanto vio a la chica comenzando a descender. Su emoción por la victoria lo hizo olvidarse de la herida en su mano, la cual le dio un punzante y traicionero dolor que le hizo tirar la copa de repente. Se partió en mil pedazos.

____ se acercó enseguida, y a pesar de que Jace creía que tomaría la copa restante y serviría su victoria, ella se acercó a él preocupada y tomó su mano.

—¿¡Duele mucho!? Diablos... debí darle más capas. Lo lamento ¿Te parece si le volvemos a poner medicina?—Jace entonces se enfocó en la mujer, ignorando el punzante dolor de su mano.

Era hermosa...

—Solo para que conste, no ganaste. Sunny esta cansada.—____ ignoraba la pesada atención que estaba recibiendo mientras ajustaba las vendas—. Volemos mañana, o mejor pasado. No quiero exigirle mucho a mi niña... ¿Competencia de fonética valyria? Ahí si te gano, eres un asco.—____ levantó la mirada hacia el chico, dispuesta a volver a molestarlo. Pero en su lugar recibió un beso. Sintió que su corazón se agitaba con aquello

—... ¿y si el mundo se entera de que el príncipe bastardo esta interesado en la jinete bastarda de su ejército bastardo?—la miró con cierta expectativa, rogando no haberse pasado de confianza.

—Nunca pensé oírte decir tantas veces la palabra bastarda... ¿Superaste el trauma?—

—Mi sangre paterna no me define.—

—Bendito sea Strong por legarte tan lindo cabello... y otras cosas lindas.—Jace sonrió—. ¿Revisamos esa mano?—

—Solo si sostienes la otra.—

____ agradecía que ya estaba anocheciendo, pues así no sería tan evidente el rubor en su rostro en cuanto Jace tomó su mano.

[iamwinklebottom]

Rainbow Santa Muerte | Santa Muerte La Arcoíris