III - A healer

Elicia chuckled at his hesitant pause. "This is my home, Kaelen." She said, gesturing around the cozy cottage. "You're in the Whispering Woods. Surely, you must know of the Whispering Woods?"

Kaelen nodded slowly. "I... I do." He admitted, his voice low. The knowledge of the woods didn't negate his surprise at finding himself here, in this unexpected sanctuary.

"Well, then." Elicia continued, her voice taking on a warmer, more confiding tone. "It's rather deep in the heart of the woods. No one ever visits. Not really. People tend to avoid it... Most people."

She leaned forward, her gaze meeting his, "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, Kaelen. But you must stay until your wounds are completely healed. I insist." She paused, observing his reaction, a hint of concern in her eyes.

A shadow crossed his features, a flicker of suspicion, of mistrust. "Why?" He asked, his voice sharp. The question hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the cozy atmosphere of the cottage. "Why are you being so kind? To a stranger. A potentially dangerous stranger, at that." The last part was a low mutter, but Elicia heard it perfectly, sensing the weariness, even the self-deprecating cynicism woven into it. The weight of his question was far more significant than the simple query might suggest. It spoke of a past marked by betrayal and hardship, a life where trust was a fragile commodity, easily broken.

Elicia's smile softened, a gentle warmth radiating from her. "I'm a healer, Kaelen." She said, her voice calm and unwavering. "It's what I do. I take pride in tending to the wounded, regardless of who they are." She paused, her silvery-blue eyes meeting his crimson gaze directly "You could kill me right now, and it wouldn't change a thing. I'd still offer you my assistance."

Kaelen's expression was unreadable, a mixture of surprise and something akin to... shame? He shifted slightly, his hand instinctively going to the bandages on his side. "I... I wouldn't." He muttered, the words barely audible. "You should be more guarded. More careful. Strangers..." He trailed off, the unspoken implications hanging heavy in the air.

Elicia simply raised an eyebrow, her expression unwavering. "I think you're a good person, Kaelen." She stated, her tone gentle but firm. "So shut up and eat your stew." She pushed the bowl slightly closer to him, a hint of playful defiance in her eyes.

The aroma of herbs and cured meat filled the small cottage, a stark contrast to the tension that still lingered between them. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Phaeton, curled up on a woven rug by the fire, merely flicked his ear, utterly unmoved by the moment's intensity.

As the last vestiges of the stew disappeared, leaving only clean bowls and spoons, Kaelen's exhaustion finally overcame him, he leaned back against the pillow Elicia had arranged on the bed. He watched her silently as she methodically cleaned the dishes, the rhythmic clinking of pottery a soothing counterpoint to the quiet hum of the cottage. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing slowing. He drifted off, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

Elicia, humming softly to herself, finished washing the dishes. She glanced at Kaelen, a small smile playing on her lips as she saw him asleep. The firelight painted his silver hair with warm hues, softening the harsh angles of his usually guarded features. She carefully placed a thick woven blanket over him, making sure he was warm and comfortable. Then, with a satisfied sigh, she resumed her cleaning, the sounds of her work weaving a quiet tapestry of domesticity.

Once everything was spotless, Elicia settled onto a wide, plush sofa, it's cushions sinking comfortably beneath her. Phaeton, sensing her quietude, jumped onto the sofa beside her, his silver fur gleaming softly in the firelight. She stroked his velvety fur, the familiar comfort grounding her after the day's unexpected events. "Interesting day, wouldn't you say, Phaeton?" She murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

The cat responded with a low, rumbling purr, his dichromatic eyes half-closed. She leaned back against the cushions, the warmth of the fire and the weight of Phaeton's body against hers lulling her into a peaceful sleep. The cottage, filled with the scent of herbs and wood smoke, settled into a quiet slumber.