#earthrunes

Winter is not always kind even to magic gardens and while the temp does not drop to freezing, it seems much of the green is receding, hibernating, sleeping.

A drowsy little possum checks her herbs. The beds are shielded by little plastic houses, to keep them warm.

They're holding for now, and...hey! Someone has been partaking of the herbs? Is it hte satyrs trying to smoke stuff again? No they plant that. These are pain numbing agents.

A little frown, and she crouches down to cradle the stubby remnant... it lives, it will grow, she will tend it....

With love and care she can restore or if she must replace it

She pets the wounded stems. "Little plant, little plant, trod over by aphid and ant, sing to me, a tale you see, of comings and goings and goings and comings and faces and hands and something that rhymes with hands..."

"goings ons in the lands!"

her magic causes a burst of spring like green in this dull brown winter

Even then, a bonus - but no, her intent is to whisper.

and they whisper and tell her..."I saw folks dancing in in practice... I saw childlings playing tag... I saw a hand come down and pluck the best of me"

"Oui, oui, and the hand connected to an arm... and the arm to a shoulder, to a neck.. to a face. Tell me of the face."

"The master of hounds and hawk, did partake, a face fair and cold"

"Oh, how odd..."

"Ikr?" it exclaims, though that really wasn't a question on her part

She bends down to kiss it. "Rest and heal and grow strong, little one."

"Roger Dodger boss....zzzzzzzz"

Mmmm

"Doot doot doot..." Little possum feet pad towards the hawks and hounds!

And she finds the greybeard in a far back of the kennel room, the dogs bark and howl at her, but more friendly than hostile.

And she can hear the Varich before she sees him "Whoever it is, now is not a good time"

"Time is time. A GOOD time is for satyrs, I think, I do more affable times..." She greets the puppers with pets. She might not be the master, but she's a reliable friend to the furry and feathered folk of Earth Runes.

A sigh "Please, Healer Emma, another time is..." is his voice creaking? The dogs are happy to see her, but some look..sad?

"Oh, oui, THAT name! What a name!" She makes her way towards the sidhe. "Harm-handed Emma."

A dog, a very old bitch indeed is dying. Emma knows the signs, she shudders in what should be painful little seizures. But while the shudders occur, the dog's pain is greatly numbed.

And the Varich hunches over the dog, stroking gently

There is also a knife, sharp enough to slit a throat easily...

"...oh...." She kneels down beside the dog, checking it. Sometimes, the patient can't be saved. Time is a thief...

and yet the knife is to the side, untouched.

"It will not be long now," The Varich says, but Emma can tell that. Sergie could just kill the dog. Quick, clean... and yet, he can't bring himself to do so. Instead, the dog is under Emma's herbs influence, dulling what should be excrutiating pain, to mere twinges

"Oui." She reaches out to stroke her ears, crooning softly. The fuddle falls as softly as snow, numbing what pain the herb could not.

And the only shakes now are just the nerves in their last moments, there is no pain.

She sings softly - a lullaby. "Fais do do, Colas mon petit frere. Fais do do, t'auras du lolo..."

Sergei says "Thank you for that. She is... just another dog really. One cannot afford" he strokes "to have favorites, to get attached" The stroking continues as his hands betray his words

Emma nods, listening, no judgement - the ragged ears ready to hear, a safe place to speak.

"She was such an endearing puppy, you know? There will always be aggressive little fellows and ladies who move forward boldly, and there will always be those shy ones hanging back, vulnerable and to be coaxed, but she was neither. She tilted her head and appraised me from just where she was, neither shy nor pushy.... then she wagged her tail as if deciding I was all right. I explained to her that that it was I who did the appraising... she just wagged more and assumed a little bow. Foolish of me, but at the time I laughed."

"oui..." Gently, coaxing.

He keeps stroking.

She waits, and listens... and sometimes are times for quiet. And that's okay, too. But he is not alone.

"I called her Seelia, it means Fairy, a ridiculous thing to call a fae hound I suppose, but her ears were like pixie wings in how expressive they were... and ..." A cough "Pardon, I maybe coming down with a cold"

"...oui..." Quiet agreement, and he finds himself gathered down to a soft shoulder.

"She was my shadow for a time, and yet also sunshine, " He says

then as he strokes, Seelia thumps her tail twice.. just as she had when she was a puppy, gives him an adoring look...and then grows still, her last breath spent.

Sergei's expression lights like an aurora of sorrow, sidhe may hide their emotions, but when they feel them, their birthright shines- and the cold winter mask of his house cannot hide grief's light.

Emma holds on to him, even if his grief is painful to look upon. She is a healer, and this is her work too.

If there is a strange wetness involved, from eyes or onto garb, well, the Varich ignores it, and hopes the pooka will do the same.

What a day for rain.

Indeed, a wet winter

She pets his hair, much like the Varich had stroked the dog.

And when it is over, when he has recovered himself, he pulls back, "I...forgive me, Emma. I must, bury an old friend."

She pats his hand and nods.