Her family knew where the spare keys were, so she wouldn’t need to unlock the door for them when they got home. She brushed her teeth and unbraided her hair. She sat by her fireplace and combed out her long silver tresses, lost in thought.
What was that strange beast? She’d never seen anything like it before. She’d never heard anything about a beast like that either. Yet, the pack lycans seemed to know of it. Or perhaps, they knew where its territory was, but hadn’t seen it before? She couldn’t know without asking, and she had no intention of asking. She didn’t want to speak to those three more than she had to, and she couldn’t ask any other pack lycans without being asked how she came to see the creature.
The bear-like thing had spoken to them! It reminded her of how wild wolves sounded when they spoke to lycans. They were not as intelligent as lycans, and their version of the language was not as sophisticated. But wolf and lycan languages were close enough that they could communicate, so long as the lycan didn’t use abstractions an animal would be unable to understand. The strange beast’s command of the language seemed similar, with how rough and simplistic it had been. And yet… those smoky quartz eyes…
Calista didn't really believe the beast lacked intelligence. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Those eyes just seemed to bear a deeper intelligence than she’d seen in any animal’s eyes. And while she was sure it had not approached them with the intent of helping her, it had done so, and not in a way that seemed entirely coincidental. It had focused its attention on the three males and left her alone. If it had attacked Gunnolf purely by chance, it should have gone for her right after, as the next-closest target, but it had not. That told Calista there was purpose in its actions.
Of course, she had no intention of waltzing into its territory and testing whether it would act friendly towards her. She had no expectation that it would. All four of them were intruders, and she had no doubt it wanted all four of them gone. But if it were as intelligent as she suspected, then perhaps it could judge from the circumstances that she was not there entirely by choice, and that by dealing with her attackers, she would leave willingly.
Calista pulled herself out of her thoughts as she finished combing her hair. She set the comb on her vanity and quickly rebraided her hair. She picked up the book of herbs she’d been studying lately and settled into bed with it.
Her intention to continue reading was thwarted by her distracted thoughts. She couldn’t focus on the words printed on the page when her mind kept replaying the events of the evening over and over. After a while, she gave up with a sigh and set the book back on the nightstand.
The silver-haired healer lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and didn’t turn up the wick of her oil lamp when it began to dim. She allowed it to burn out, so the only light was the red glow of the embers in her fireplace. Exhaustion finally quieted her scattered thoughts, and she rolled over and went to sleep, pulling the down quilt up to her chin while burrowing deep into her pillow. She dreamed of luminous, pale brown eyes watching her from the bushes while she ran through the forest as a wolf.
Calista woke the next morning feeling stiff and sore. She’d run herself to exhaustion last night, and fought harder than she ever had against Harou. She groaned and dragged herself out of bed. She drew herself a hot bath, adding fragrant salts and oils that were good for aches and pains. She wound her long, silver braid around her head and pinned it in place before settling into the water. She didn’t want the salts or oils to get in her hair.
The lycan settled into the hot bath with a sigh. She soaked for a while, keeping an eye on the frosted window. When the light came in at an angle and brightness she knew indicated the transition between early morning to mid-morning, she rose from the water and pulled the plug. She dried herself in a soft linen towel while the water drained away, then used it to wipe the salt and oil residue out of the porcelain tub. On the way out of the bathroom, she tossed the towel in the bathroom hamper. She would do laundry later.
Calista dressed herself for work. A brown skirt and white blouse under a powder blue overdress that stopped halfway down the length of the brown skirt, and finally, a long white apron that covered her chest and the entire front of her skirt.
She unpinned her braid and undid it, giving her hair a quick combing to smooth it out from being slept on. Then she divided her hair in half and quickly wove it into the twin plaits she favored while working. Thus ready, the healer headed downstairs and towards the back door.
Bardoul intercepted her on the way to her shoes.
“Hey, there you are. I was worried about you when I went back to get my clothes and saw yours were still there. But when I got home, you were already asleep. Father said you were already home when he got here with Ulva and Orfilia,” he said, giving her a once-over with a concerned expression.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine, I just…” Calista shrugged to buy herself some time while thinking of the least worrying way she could explain what happened last night without lying. “I had to avoid an unpleasant social situation, so I came straight home?” The young woman sheepishly peeked up at her older brother from under her bangs to see if he was buying it.
Bardoul sighed, his amber eyes narrowing a bit as he gave her a skeptical look. To Calista’s relief, he didn’t push her.
“Well, as long as you’re alright, I guess it doesn’t really matter. I hope you’re in a better mood today though. I’m not used to you being so unwilling to deal with socializing. You’re usually so good with people. Always so kind,” he said, pursing his lips.
“Yeah, but that’s why,” she said, looking away. “I’m always nice, always kind, always polite, always compassionate. It comes naturally to me, but that doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting. And no one ever really wants to talk to me about anything other than my job. Sometimes I like to be seen just as myself, you know? Sometimes I just want to talk about what I want to talk about, and not just work all the time.”
Bardoul nodded, and pulled her into a sympathetic hug.
“I’m sorry. I hope we haven’t contributed to that,” he said. Calista shook her head against his chest.
“No, you guys are great. You almost never talk to me about my work. You mostly talk about your own work. Or, well, boys and fashion, in Ulva and Orfilia’s case,” she replied with a soft chuckle.
Bardoul released her and headed on his way, ruffling her hair gently as he passed by.
Calista made her way out into the garden and busied herself inspecting plants for signs of pests and checking around the roots for weeds. She found no evidence of insects, which was good. Her grandmother and mother had spent decades between them carefully breeding these plants to be resistant against pests, hardier in the face of drought, and have increased potency in their medicinal effects. Calista was fortunate they had both been such diligent note-takers and had documented their entire process and progress. The silver-haired lycan strove to live by their example, and charted the plants’ growth and took careful notes of any changes she made. She kept her current notepad in the pocket of her apron. Later, she would transcribe the notes into the current journal she kept for the sole purpose of documenting her experiences as healer.
Any time she treated an illness or injury of particular note, she documented that, too. She also made sure to keep track of, and chart, when she crafted fresh medicines and how frequently they were used.
Calista was well into her gardening and working on pruning and harvesting for the last time for the year, when the garden gate on the forest side of the fence opened. Her head snapped up and her eyes fell upon three sheepish lycan men who had definitely seen better days. Calista sighed.
She fixed them with a frosty look and hiked her armful of herbs up against her chest. Without a word, she turned and headed for the clinic door. The three men followed her silently, and watched as she spread the herbs out on the counter of the workroom adjacent to the clinic area. She washed her hands and came back into the clinic. Gunnolf and Channing sat down without being asked, while Rannulf sulked by the door.
Still refusing to talk to any of them, Calista gathered up the most stinging antiseptic ointment she had, along with her needles and gut thread. The three men shed their shirts and rolled up pant legs as needed to display their wounds.
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