#perfect timing with the hec thread he's about to need a new hobby

[peerlessscowl]

She finds him in the medical tent after the battle's end. An overwhelming sense of regret beckons the Nordion princess to find the man with rust colored hair. For this was not the type of battle she desired! It was her hopes to test the edges of comradery and gain new companions. Not this... The lioness is slow to approach, unsure of the proper tactic. They had not spoken in the entirety of battle and it was unlikely he would have a high opinion of her. But this was not the time to get discouraged! She had been through much harsher tests, pressed to the limits of what life could taste. The halo of blonde approaches calmly to his bedside. Calm, stay calm. "Sir Raymond, I take it? I never received your name during battle....Ah, well I wished to express my utter apologies for the way the battle turned out." Lips press together tightly as her brow furrows. "I do not believe that was the commendable way to achieve victory. You are clearly very skilled and I treated you poorly.....It is my hope that we can be acquaintances and put this brutish battle behind us..." "If there is some way I can apologize for my reproachable behavior...If there is some way I can make it up to you," Lachesis adds. "Do not hesitate to let me know, for I do not desire animosity between us."

He dreams, sometimes, bringing what might have been restful sleep to something that is half-waking. It happens more at night than after battle, but the feeling of the ground hitting his knees and tipping forward has haunted him a time or two as well, the dizzy sensation where the world tips to one side in the seconds before everything turns black.

Raven feels it, still, the tug in his chest, the pull of energy from without trying to get at his softer parts, something sinister come to burrow and his core and feast.

He hears the shouting of the medics, though muffled by the haze. Eventually, the sound, too drowns out and fades into the background - dispersed, naturally, he supposes, as his condition stabilizes and they leave his body to do the hard work. The clarity of consciousness comes to him sharply, almost crisp, almost cold against his senses.

He feels her coming before he sees or hears her, and he isn't certain if it is the sense of nausea pitching his gut on the instinct, the shying away of his natural self-preservation from the thing that had sought to sink its claws into him.

He doesn't grant her the dignity of flinching at her approach, raising his gaze to meet hers steadily as she speaks. Raven listens, does not interrupt, eyes never wavering in spite of her self-consciousness - what need have he to be gracious of a witch's feelings?

When she is done, he rises from the cot - slowly, not because of his fatigue, masking it as best he could despite the shivering in his fingers, but slowly to draw attention to their proximity, the fact that if he wanted, he could merely reach out-

There is a beat of silence, then; "Lord, actually. Not sir."

Through the slits of his narrowed eyes, he can see that she is pretty - some lady or another, probably got away with just being pretty her whole life - and he can see that she is used to her charm carrying the brunt of whatever she might like to achieve.

But he remembers the drag of magic across his heart, the flush of her cheeks as his paled, and how she had focused solely on him while chatting casually with his own teammate - the disrespect shown to an opponent you consider an afterthought. The facade doesn't faze him.

"Where I'm from," he begins, voice low and deliberate as he takes a step closer, bridging any distance between them with some certainty, "we share stories. At equinoxes, solstices, in the dark of night to teach our children what comes for them in the night. What hungers for their life force, uses it for their benefit."

His eyes flick down in assessment, then back up to hers. "And at the end of those stories, there is always blood. Whose, depends on who does the telling."

Another beat. "But there is always blood."

He gives her a curt nod, shifting his weight to maintain the steadiness of his gait to move away from her in a straight line, ignoring the flutter of his heart not yet recovered.

He had memorized her face, and he knew that he would see it around, if he looked.