Hours had become days while they spoke....While he spoke. Spoke of his journey, of his prison, of her and others who haunted him there. She listened quietly, drifting in and out of slumber. Calmer she had become with each word, each pause, the throated tenor of his voice, of his words giving her some slivers of peace.
When he spoke of needs, and Friendships, she brought her eyes to his. They were an odd pairing. 'Feind and Gypsy, the was a rawness.. there was a need. Unexplainable, unfathomable, were there should have been nothing, there was need. She needed him....
When Daphne-Kyle came to look in on her with fresh linen garments, He was given a passing glance before she was sitting her friend up and removing the blood stained shirt she wore. A warm cloth washed away days of sorrow from the woman face. Beads of water roll over dark green designs that climb over and around her shoulders and arms. The skin trembles as its exposed to the cool fresh touch of the cloth. The older woman pausig only when the Gypsy's head drops to rest upon her shoulder. The cloth wiping hair back from her face, a further tip of the womans head and Daphne -Kyle was able to run a small stream of water through the thicket of knots and coils of auburn.
When her friend is settled once more she smiles, though her eyes hold their own saddness. A supportive squeeze to her upper arm above the bandages and a long look upon the silent one. Then she is gone, soiled clothing in hand, to speak to the doctor perhaps about the severity of her friends hands, Daphne-Kyle has had some experience in piecing the Gypsy back together. Not one word was spoken between the two, after all these years none are needed. the smile says "i'm always here.. The eyes they plead "Never again... The gentle Squeeze which lingers within a protective comfort? "Be careful..
When once more they are two, she looks to those eyes. Studying him for the first time with a more steady gaze a thousand questions came to her lips. How?..When?..Who?...But nothing is spoken out loud. She simply looked upon him, his covered face and tatter cloak. The damaged armor...Was he death? To many he was.
Too her?
Shelter...Salvation...Deliverance..
"Teron?, Where do we go now?"...