"A Hint of the Past"

Log Date:
	2/28/01

Log Cast:
	Salmalin, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	Ever since her liberation from Clan Sarazen, Faanshi has endured
shocks both great and small almost on a daily basis... enough that she has
begun to learn that such is almost the way of life. But because she is 
Faanshi, because she is still new to the ways of the world, the young shudra
healer has not stopped being amazed at the shocks her life can bring her.
One of these as of late has been the discovery that Salmalin al'Sar has 
seen fit to abandon his love affair with wine, and is beginning to try to
rouse himself to aid her in communicating with the Sylvans of Haven. 
Moreover, the young kshatri has been concerned about _her_: whether the bond
she has developed with the clanless Mehul is a good thing, and about the 
general state of her heart and soul. Stunned indeed is Faanshi that a 
kshatri man would take such concern over one such as her.
	But even as she has begun to develop a rapport with the disgraced son 
of Clan al'Sar, Faanshi has _not_ learned much of his history and what cast
him into disgrace and into the clutches of the bottle. Tonight, thanks to
ill fortune making his latest attempt at reaching out to the Sylvans go
horribly awry, she will get a glimpse into his past... and at a bit more of
the man who has hidden behind the face of a careless drunkard since she 
first laid eyes upon him....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Night (Dawnside) 
          Date on Aether:  Sunday, December 5, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  First Quarter 
                  Season:  Winter 
                 Weather:  Clear Skies 
             Temperature:  Bracing 
*==========================================================================*

As the first tentative touch of light begins to seep into the dark sky above 
  Haven it is within the arms of a shadow that brings Salmalin into the halls 
  of Atesh-Gah. A lone Agni-Haidar carries the limp and blooded form of the 
  Voice to the Sylvans through the embassy toward the al'Sar suites. There is 
  no call for a healer, not yet, not until Salmalin is laying upon the pillows 
  he had been using for a bed. It is then that the dark pillar barks out an 
  order to one of the passing shudra who had the unfortunate duty of fetching 
  a midnight snack for his master. So with sure feet he runs to the nearest 
  healer that he knows of, Faanshi.

It takes some minutes before the shudra maiden comes running with as much 
  decorum as she can muster -- but it is obvious, once Faanshi arrives at the 
  entrance of the al'Sar chambers, that the woman sent to fetch her has 
  apprised her at least initially of what to expect. Green eyes have gone wide 
  over her veil, and for a moment she is stopped dead at the door as the 
  impact of perceived pain rolls into her senses. Quickly, however, she shakes 
  it off. And for once there is an urgency to her movements, overriding her 
  natural shyness as she hastily scans the room to see who else is present. 
  But even as she does this, she's heading for the Voice's prone form.

The Agni-Haidar that had originally brought Salmalin to his room is still 
  there, standing at attention as he waits for someone to arrive. He gives 
  Faanshi a rather dubious look before moving toward the door and standing 
  there as though he did not trust the woman. With his back to the room he 
  does not seem overly concerned, though, perhaps he just wanted to be away 
  from her.

For Salmalin's part he just lies there, unmoving, his breath shallow. Blood 
  still runs from his mouth and nose, along with the various cuts along his 
  body. His shirt is torn, his nose obviously broken, though that is not the 
  half of it. It is really hard to tell if it is indeed the Voice, yet there 
  is a small hint beneath the bruises and the black eyes. Through a tear in 
  his shirt it is clearly seen that there are bruises along his ribs as well.

"Sweet Holy Mother--" Faanshi does not often swear, but this time she makes an 
  exception. But even now she makes a proper if hasty gesture of obeisance to 
  the Lion on guard at the door, dipping her head to him and murmuring a hasty 
  "pardon me, Imphadi" even as she heads right for Salmalin. As she does she 
  blurts over her shoulder to the round-eyed shudra lingering just behind the 
  open door, "Water, I beg of you, and swiftly!"

The woman starts, as if she has never seen such serious injuries before and 
  needed the prod. But she scampers off quickly, and Faanshi is left to kneel 
  at Salmalin's side and place a hand to his brow. Her power has already 
  roared into life, and the halfbreed maiden sucks in a breath as she hauls 
  her own power tightly in under her control to see first what all is wrong 
  with the man.

What is /not/ wrong with Salmalin? It looks as though someone tried to use him 
  as a playtoy for some wild wyverns. Beneath the bruises half-hidden by this 
  shirt are several broken ribs. A few fingers on his right hand are broken as 
  well as though he tried to fend off the attacker, but failed. The blood on 
  his face covers the bruises of a broken nose and the black eyes, but nothing 
  can hide the swelling. His face seems to have taken the brunt of the attack, 
  though the rest of him is not too better off.

Breathing in an anxious prayer, Faanshi lays her other hand upon the Voice's 
  chest -- and from the delicacy of her contact, one might almost guess that 
  she feared doing him further damage. But for once, there is no fear in her 
  touch, and its lightness stands in contrast to the power she unleashes 
  through her sungolden fingers. It cannot be seen, but its incandescant 
  strength flows into the man's battered body, going straight for the worst of 
  the cracked bones.

For the man at the door, there is little to see: just a girl in black kneeling 
  at the ambassador's side, her hands upon him. Nor does Faanshi move for the 
  small number of minutes that elapse before the other shudra comes bustling 
  back, bearing a pitcher of water and several folded cloths. She too makes 
  her obeisance in passing to the Lion, before coming up behind Faanshi and 
  settling the items she's brought within reach.

"What must I do?" the other shudra asks in a small voice, for there is little 
  for _her_ to see, as well.

Faanshi does not move, deeply involved as she is in bidding Salmalin's ribs to 
  repair themselves. All the attention she spares is to make the whispered 
  reply, "I will attend him... thank you...!"

For a while there is nothing. Salmalin is as still as death save for the 
  shallow breath he takes every once in a while. Even the Agni-Haidar at the 
  door is not that still, not with the few glances he spares to ensure no 
  further harm will come from the halfbreed. But as the power of Faanshi's 
  healing begins to mend flesh an there is a moan. It is low and speaks of not 
  wishing to feel anymore pain. Breathing hurts, thinking hurts as Salmalin 
  begins to stir. He longs to cough the blood away from his mouth and throat, 
  but he does not. Instead he moves a hand ever so slightly, reaching for the 
  person closest to him.

She could heal him faster -- but then again, there is _so much_ damage that 
  Faanshi forces herself to keep her power more steadily paced. First, the 
  ribs. Then the more delicate work of the restoration of his fingers. And 
  then, she senses his stirring consciousness, more through her magic than 
  through her hearing. "Shhh, Salmalin," she murmurs, aware that it might 
  perhaps be less than wise to address him informally with other ears 
  listening in, but nevertheless determined to soothe him. His twitching hand 
  is taken up by one of the shudra's, her grasp a gentle anchor and continuing 
  conduit for her power, while with her other hand she reaches for one of the 
  cloths the other woman has brought her. With that, she begins to dab away 
  the blood around his face. "Be at peace. You are safe. Shhh...!"

"F-fan-sh-shi," is moaned through the split lips as his fingers seek to hold 
  her own tighter, but it is impossible. His fingers will not comply and he is 
  not strong enough to force them yet. Falling silent again he only waits with 
  agonizing patience, unsure if any of this is real. Swollen shut, his eyes 
  can hardly make out light and it casts a dark image in Salmalin's mind. Will 
  every encounter end this way?

"It is I," comes the maiden's voice, clear and firm for all that she is still 
  gently murmuring her words. "Be at peace. I am healing you. Shhh, rest 
  now...!"

Faanshi's fingers cradle Salmalin's a little more steadily now, as she feels 
  his twitch again. His hand and arm provide the channel for her power to keep 
  up its current through him, easing away the aches of bruises and smoothing 
  out increasingly smaller breaks in his bones. At last she diverts herself to 
  begin work upon his face, one hand still carefully dabbing away the blood. 
  Can she move her other hand up to join its mate?

Now that he has a hold of something solid, Salmalin does not seem willing to 
  let go of it so easily. Though he does not have the strength to keep her 
  hand from its task he does seem intent upon keeping the contact with the 
  only person he seems to trust right now. As the pressure eases from his 
  chest he gives a small cough, small trickles of blood and saliva escaping 
  his throat. "I.. sorry. J-just wanted a talk.. some peace," he murmurs 
  quietly. The effort is enough to make his hand to loosen in her grip. All he 
  wants to do is curl up right now and sleep until he is dead. So tired.

"It is not your fault," the healer breathes... croons, almost, so soothingly 
  does she whisper. "You do not need to apologize. I am healing you and then 
  you can rest." As Salmalin's hand goes slack against hers she carefully 
  lowers it down to rest atop his prone body, then applies herself to cupping 
  his swollen cheeks between her palm. Behind her veil, she draws in a breath. 
  It is almost harder, this task, than the healing of the ribs. The bones are 
  smaller and more fragile, and she must focus her power more tightly to 
  convince them to mend. Slowly, ever so slightly, swelling begins to subside. 
  Even more slowly, she begins to try to convince the ruin of his nose to 
  heal.

Salmalin' head shakes slightly. He opens his lips to speak, but stops himself 
  as he hand cups his face. He tries not to move, but his fingers move 
  slightly in anticipation. Sleep. Should he? There is so much to take care of 
  now. "You shouldn't have to," he finally breathes. The effort is enough to 
  keep his eyes closed still, despite her efforts. No light yet.. not until he 
  can understand.

"Heal you?" comes the murmured reply, from somewhere just above the wounded 
  man. A ferocious itching begins somewhere about his nose, as miniscule 
  shards of bone and torn cartilage yield to the inexorable current of aether 
  that Faanshi commands as she commands nothing else in her life. "Of course I 
  must."

Laughter is there, hiding beneath the blood and mending bone. No laughing yet. 
  Salmalin's lips just twitch. That is not what he meant, but as the itching 
  begins to grow all he can do is stop himself from trying to scratch. His 
  just healed fingers start to curl as he grabs hold of the edge of his torn 
  shirt. "I was being.. stubborn," he whispers. But when is he not? His body 
  tenses as the healing continues. "It was my fault.."

"Um..." This is from the other shudra, still standing nervously by. She cannot 
  quite bring herself to address the halfbreed healer by name -- or by 
  'imphada', for that matter. But nevertheless the woman plaintively inquires, 
  "Am I needed, further?"

Without looking up from her work, Faanshi repeats, "I will attend him... but 
  again, thank you...!" How often do shudra get thanked around Atesh-Gah? Not 
  often, but such is apparently not relevant to the halfbreed at the moment.

In acknowledgement, the other shudra drops a little bow and departs, though 
  not without a bemused final peek at the wounded Voice as she goes.

And without looking after her, Faanshi continues the careful task of restoring 
  Salmalin's battered face. Find what feels _right_, she urges herself, 
  cajoling his flesh and bone to whisper to her of its proper shape, and then 
  convincing it to return to it. By now the effort is beginning to make her 
  sweat, but her hands do not shake. "What was, Salmalin?" she whispers.

There are others? Salmalin had not realized.. he should have. As the other 
  shudra leaves he catches the outline of the Agni-Haidar. A frown comes to 
  his lips and he makes a motion with his hand, "Leave." His gesture is vague, 
  but his eyes remain upon the black and silver clad warrior. "J-janizar.. 
  Please.. leave me. You have.. you have more important matters."

And indeed he does, but answers are needed. The Agni-Haidar warrior frowns at 
  Salmalin and then at the halfbreed, almost glaring with his outrage. But who 
  is he to question? After a pause he says, "I will be back." And then he is 
  gone, not even his steps making a sound.

As the door closes behind the warrior, Salmalin lets out a sigh of relief. 
  "The.. I.. would.. would not yield. I knew she would.. attack, but.. I.. I 
  wanted to talk with my.. my wife. I needed some time, but.. she would not 
  let me." Moisture begins to well in his eyes as he remembers the night and 
  his actions that led to this moment. "I am sorry."

_Wife_?

Now, the hands that have been so gently and so assuredly soothing the hurts 
  away from the Voice do finally go still for a moment, as the shock of that 
  one small word shoots through Faanshi, as palpable as her magic to her. And 
  then as she espies tears beginning to well up in the Varati's eyes -- the 
  swelling around them lessened now, because of her power -- she draws in a 
  soft little gasp.

It is not often, after all, that this halfbreed shudra healer sees a man cry. 
  Especially a Son of Fire.

And then she mentally shakes herself. She must conclude her work. The shudra 
  of Thalia Tritonides Khalida she may be. Halfbreed she may be, and a mere 
  woman. But above all else she is a healer, and a small core of strength 
  Faanshi touches within herself at no other time urges her to make sure the 
  healing is concluded. And so she re-gathers her concentration, sending her 
  power soaking like sunlight through Salmalin's battered flesh.

Still, though, she cannot stop her own shy question: "Why... why do you 
  apologize to me?"

Salmalin moans as he takes in a deeper breath than he would allow himself 
  earlier. He does not even notice the change in Faanshi, her hesitation or 
  her sudden re-gathering of energy. It is better and he relaxes, even if his 
  hand still clutches the fabric of his shirt tightly. The tears spill onto 
  the sides of his eyes, not so great as to be considered crying. It is 
  moisture and could be caused by anything, though it is a great coincidence. 
  Ignoring the wetness he just smiles, "You do not need this... this trouble. 
  I just can't seem to do any... anything correctly."

Merciful Ushas. The man lies battered, bruised and broken, and apologizes to 
  _her_ for the inconvenience? Already stunned by his whisper of the word 
  _wife_, Faanshi takes this second startlement almost in stride. Through her 
  magic she concludes at last that Salmalin's face and frame are as restored 
  as she is going to make them for now; she does not have much more strength 
  of her own left to spare, and she must assure that her charge is comfortable 
  and resting to restore his strength before she can permit herself to rest as 
  well. Her hands move again, this time to fetch a new cloth and dab water 
  upon it to wash the face she has just restored. The small motions are enough 
  to steady her just a little and let her assure, "You are no burden to me."

"Selfless," he whispers with a smile. Still yet, the tears that may not be 
  tears flow from his eyes and a hand reaches up slowly toward her own. "You 
  remind me of her.. though without.. without wings. But even you need rest 
  now..I have been asking and learning." He tries to stay her hand in its 
  effort to clean his face. If he were stronger he might even roll away, but 
  he is not so naive as to think he can just run around yet. "You have done 
  enough and I thank you, Faanshi. Even if you say I am no burden.. I will 
  still try to avoid.. such a situation in the future."

The realization is not precisely blatant, but there is a clear line between 
  its absence in Faanshi's thoughts and its presence. A picture of a winged 
  woman upon Salmalin's back... and a wife. With wings. Separated from him? 
  Living somewhere beyond his reach? _No wonder that Clan al'Sar is angry with 
  him,_ comes the uncharacteristically curious thought somewhere within her, 
  though she sternly pushes it aside. It is not her place to make 
  suppositions. Instead, she peeks down at the hand that intercepts her own, 
  understanding it for the gesture it is, an unvoiced request for her to 
  cease. "My strength will return after I have broken my fast," she promises 
  -- and though one must consider her apparent habit of dismissing her own 
  tribulations, still there is a ring of truth in her whispered words. Her 
  power _has_ been growing as of late. "Yours will return, if you rest today. 
  Perhaps tomorrow as well. And you should eat a good meal when you can 
  stir...!"

Salmalin can only smile, though he does look away from her gaze. His hand 
  lowers slowly now and he tries to sit up. The effort alone makes him tired 
  and he stops before he hurts himself further. "I hate feeling this way," he 
  murmurs to himself. He feels weak, helpless and useless. Finally the tears 
  have stopped and as they dry upon his face he reaches up to touch his nose 
  gently. "I could have a meal brought," he suggests. "For you as well.. 
  unless you wish to sleep. I do not seem to have the best of timing when it 
  comes to needing your services. I will try to be more aware of the time for 
  future reference." There is a teasing to his voice that suggests this is 
  only a minor setback in his plans. It will take more than a beating to kill 
  his spirit.

"It is almost dawn," Faanshi answers softly, "and I must pray..." To Ushas, 
  yes, though she still does not dare approach the shrine of the Amir-al's 
  Holy Mother. For now, though, the Voice's lightening tone catches her 
  slightly off-guard; it can't be too terribly often, either, that this girl 
  is actually amiably teased, and it seems to take her some effort to realize 
  it for what it is. Then, though it may be just a trifle difficult to tell, 
  her own voice lightens ever so slightly in response as she answers, "You 
  honor me, by noting my humble schedule." Is she actually _wry_? Could there 
  be a sense of humor somewhere behind her omnipresent veil? More earnestly, 
  however, she goes on, "I will go and say prayers of thanks that you returned 
  to the embassy for me to mend...!" A fractional pause. And then she 
  concludes shyly, "The Lions of Fire may wish to question you... do you... 
  need me to report to them? I-I have been permitted to speak with the 
  Maharani's Kaimakam... at least a little..."

"Of course, of course," Salmalin says with a bit of laughter. He reaches up to 
  pat her on the arm and make a shooing gesture. "Your schedule may be humble, 
  but it is still important. If you are not happy, I cannot be happy and then 
  where would we be?" He grins at her before shaking his head at her next 
  question. "No.. not unless they question you. I will deal with them myself. 
  I wish to take care of this personally lest something is misunderstood. It 
  seems that my.. ambassadorial skills will need some honing if I am to help 
  you in this endeavor." He smiles again, though his tone has turned more 
  grave than before.

There are only a small number of people who seem to Faanshi to be concerned 
  for her welfare -- or who want to help her. Hearing Salmalin once again seem 
  to classify himself in exactly that category makes the shudra peek down at 
  him uncertainly from over her veil. But only for a moment. She then timidly 
  bobs her head and begins to rise, but not before fetching a blanket to bring 
  nearer for Salmalin to curl up with as he wishes. It is hard to suppress the 
  reflexive 'As you wish, Imphadi' -- but somehow she manages it, and it is 
  not quite as difficult as she expects, not when Salmalin seems to want to 
  treat her... almost like a friend. There might even be a lightening of the 
  maiden's summer-colored eyes going on, though that could also just be a 
  trick of light. "Namaste', Salmalin... rest well. I will return to check on 
  you later. Sleep now..."

Salmalin smiles and nods almost as if were the one taking orders. The blanket 
  is taken gratefully, clutched tightly as he curls up within the warmth it 
  offers. And in that moment he feels safe, as if he were the luckiest man 
  alive right now. He glances up at Faanshi one last time and whispers, 
  "Namaste," before his eyes drift closed.

And with that, the maiden is content. Her body is beginning to tremble just a 
  little as she gets to her feet -- but it is not an inconquerable weariness, 
  or debilitating. She will be able to handle it. The knowledge of this truth 
  is enough to give her a taste of something almost like confidence, even as 
  she steps quietly out of the suite... pulls the door closed behind her... 
  and resolves that she will, should any stop her to ask, respectfully and 
  humbly recommend that the Voice be permitted his rest... on her authority as 
  his healer.

Behind her veil, as she slips off to her morning prayers, Faanshi almost 
  smiles.

[End log.]