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[color=6E8E67]Location:[/color] Outside the Eyrie[/center][hr][hr]


She was relieved that Faeril did not fight her.  It made the work she had to do easier.  Fatima knelt next to the Widow and breathed deeply, slowly.  Each raise and fall a redirection of her power.  Each fill of her lung a swelling and each release of breath settled it into place through her limbs.  She opened her eyes and set to work straight away.  Her hands moved like liquid water over and through the Eyrien Widow's skin.  She looked for sore muscles and bruises to mend.  She too found the cut on the finger and the rip in her wing.  These she fixed as well, but Mikhail distracted her.

Fatima had to pull away lest she accidentally hurt the woman.  This left things mostly healed but she was a firm believer in the body's ability to do its own healing.  Her whole stature went rigid and she did not move as the man chastised her in much the same way she had the Widow.  Her cheeks flushed with her anger and she looked down at her hands which lay palm up in her lap.  She was silent for a long while and Faeril imparted a truth that Fatima had already known.  This man who so whole heartedly was interested in her safety and then denied his hand in it (all in the same breath) was one of her own.  She especially didn't like the way he had spoken out against Xandar with such vehemence.  Xandar had said, in not quite so many words, that he was a part of her circle.  This man had yet to offer such a thing.  Mikhail was both hers and not hers, in a different way than Jandar.  No, she would not allow an outlier to speak so reproachfully of someone under her protection.

She was not at all surprised when Faeril fainted.  She caught the woman before she fell entirely to the ground and Xandar soon came to whisk her away.  She said nothing to him.  She did not even look at the Eyrien male.  She could not.  She was afraid she might vomit or cry if she did.  All this time Fatima had been silent.  Brewing.  At last she stood, covered in blood and streaked with dirt.  Still she held her chin high and looked up at the man who dare tell her what to do when he had yet to make himself in anyway a part of her circle.  Something caught the corner of her eye.

Jandar.  Relief swept through her and she though her knees might buckle beneath her weight.  [i]'Do. not. fall.'[/i] she growled to herself.  She returned her attention to Mikhail.

[color=6E8E67]"It would do you well to watch your tongue, friend,"[/color] she said in a voice that was overly calm.  Each syllable was measured and the hint of frost pricked the air.  [color=6E8E67]"As it stands, Xandar is one of mine.  He lay under the wings of my protection."[/color]  She held the leash for an insurmountably violent man.  He was a Warlord Prince.  And he was hers.  She wasn't going to let someone speak so ill of him, even if she was quite upset with him herself.  [color=6E8E67]"If my protection is not one of your jobs then you are under some odd delusion that your word holds weight here."[/color]  She paused, cocking her head to the side.  [color=6E8E67]"Which is to say, the merit of the man you hold in such deep detestation has more worth to me than your own.  Think on that before you deliver such words of admonishment unto a person.  I believe you a man to be of the sort to think before you act.  Perhaps that is a habit you should have taken here." [/color] Cold, white gold eyes, which had been eerily unblinking, turned from Mikhail to the body in repose at her feet.

[color=6E8E67]"If you wish to discuss this further, please come to see me later.  I am afraid I am far to tired to handle a battle of wits with any modicum of decorum at this present moment."[/color]  She let her gaze drift lazily to him before it went back to Jandar.  Good.  He was alive.  He was well.  She would inspect him more closely for wounds later.  She knelt on the grass with as much grace as her protesting body could muster next to the body of the man she had known for all of her long life.  She gently swept hair from his oddly pale face.  His cheeks were usually so ruddy with drink.  She began to tear at her tunic pulling the bottom half of it away.  She carefully wrapped it around his mangled neck as if it were a scarf.  It hid the disgusting bruises and tearing skin there.  With care she gently clasped his hand and lifted it to her face, placing her cheek against the back of the cold hand.  She closed her eyes a moment and sighed.  Careful, ever so very careful, she placed his hands over his chest, one over the other.  She touched his face and fussed over his clothes to make sure not a thing was out of place.

At long last her attention returned to Jandar.  She crawled the few steps away he sat to sit on her knees before him.  She did not trust herself to stand.  Her body trembled as it tried to contain the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to spill from her.  Normally it was Jassen who would see her in these moments of weakness.  But he wasn't here anymore was he?  [color=6E8E67]"Are you hurt?"[/color] she asked quietly, feeling guilty she had not asked sooner.  Her fingers shakily touched the backs of his palms before a hand reached out to touch his cheek.  [color=6E8E67]"I am sorry I am such a mess,"[/color] she said with a slight laugh that threatened to turn into a sob.  She choked it back and offered merely a thin, watery smile.