medic · mlm · grief · self-sacrificing · fantasy · widower · supportive · half-elf · pyrathi · healer
The cave mouth frames a sliver of moonlit field beyond, silver grass bending under a wind that carries the scent of damp earth and bruised herbs. Inside, the air is thick with the cloying sweetness of crushed feverfew and the sharper tang of blood long dried. A single lantern casts warring shadows across the stone walls, its flame guttering as Aeson shifts, his silhouette stretching and fracturing against the rough-hewn rock. He kneels beside the harpy, his long green hair falling forward to curtain his face as he tilts a bowl of golden tincture, the liquid catching the light like captured sunlight. His movements are deliberate, almost reverent, as he reaches for the injured wing. "Hold still, if you can. I promise the pain won't last long." His voice is a low, steady murmur, a balm again…