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Dita’s touch is…strange. There is warmth, but none at the same time. Rough, calloused fingers search your own for any signs of damage. Injury. The usual after a spar. Mikko had you beat this time, despite your efforts. Hjaitr’s training isn’t something you’re quite used to yet, and it’s left Mikko with an upper hand this time. That isn’t to say that you don’t appreciate his lessons, but perhaps a change of pace would be be-
“You’ve torn skin around your joints.” Dita says flatly. She’s been turning your hands over in hers for what feels like a lifetime, and there’s part of you that’s inclined to pull away.
“It’s nothing.” you find yourself saying.
Dita raises a brow, and you shrink a little at the gaze. Why is it always the gaze? “So if I touch, you’re not going to scream?”
You purse your lips. She’s got you there. You look over your shoulders, watching Hjaitr and Mikko. The spar was something else, to say the least. Move, after move, after repetitive move left you distracted and tired. The simple, wooden staff that rests in Hjaitr’s hands made enough contact with the back of your knees that you’re more than certain you’ll be bruised by the morrow.
Her touch is gentle, but the pain is sharp enough to bolt you out of your thoughts. You suck in a sharp breath and turn your gaze back to Dita as your raw wounds burn. Dita tsks in her usual fashion before she scoots a little closer to you. Her skirts are billowed around her as she kneels in front of you, eyeing the wounds carefully.
“You should wrap your hands.” she murmurs. “Better grip. Less pain. It won’t solve things right now, but it’s…a good habit to get into.”
“It’s not that bad, Dita.”
“You are in pain. Any pain, in my eyes, is bad. We’ll take care of this.”
“Dita, I-”
Orange eyes are fixed on yours. A warning gaze. You stop your train of thought quick enough as Dita releases your hands to rummage through the satchel hidden within the thick folds of the fabrics of her skirts. With the faintest of hums, she’s pulled out a metal tin and linen strips and has already begun to twist the top of it. The harsh, acidic smells of Fleshroot and limbseed oil invade your senses before the faintest tinge of rose and addison’s blood take over. The paste in the tin is thick. A clay like consistency and, as Dita spreads the paste over your wounds, your hands feel cold. The smell is strong enough that you bite back the nausea that causes your head to spin.
“I will give you the tin.” Dita says. She pulls your hands closer to her and rests them on her knee, slowly working the salve into your skin. “It smells strong, yes, but strong is good.”
“It smells awful.” you blurt out.
Dita, much to your surprise, chuckles. “Eh. You get used to it.”
“Like Hjaitr’s tea?”
“Just like that, yes.”
There’s a silence between you two as Dita continues to tend to your wounds. Despite her usual demeanor, you notice concern in her features. You worry that you’re the cause of it. Your bravery, however, does not show up in this moment. You let the silence hang about you both, and your gaze snaps once more to Hjaitr and Mikko when you hear the heavy thud of someone hitting the ground. To no surprise, Mikko is on his back on the ground, staring up at his senior.
“You’ll beat him.” Dita chimes in. “Mikko has many advantages. You’re not familiar with his fighting style yet. It takes time.”
Time. Time never feels like it tick, tick, ticks in your favour. Always running forward and leaving you to hang on the edge of each second. You fight the urge to pull away, but Dita clasps your hands in hers.
“Breathe, Kalri.” she whispers. “No need for tension. Tomorrow, I will show you how to kill him.”
You blink. “You don’t mean to actually kill him.”
Dita smiles wryly. She begins to wrap your hands in the linen in a steady sort of rhythm. “Eh. His ego could do with the killing.”
You laugh. A gentle laugh, much to your own surprise. “So you do fight.”
Her eyes peer up to look at you. “How do you think I keep Hjaitr in line?”
“I-”
When she’s done with the wrappings, she taps them gently. Proudly. “We will keep it a secret, hm? I like to let him think he’s the alpha. It makes things interesting when our pride is on the line.”
You smile a little. “Thank you. Even though I was fine.”
Dita stands from her position, dusting off her knees. She raises a brow and folds her arms against her chest. “You are now. Tomorrow, we have a busy day ahead of us.”
There’s a sort of tension that ripples through your chest. Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s never been certain. With the way this spar went, there’s doubt blooming, and creeping upwards so very fast. “Sure. Tomorrow.”
Dita tilts your head to look at her. A pointed nail is balanced beneath your chin, and she’s quick to lick a finger on her free hand to dust the dirt off your cheeks. Always so gentle, despite her tough exterior. “Tomorrow,” she begins. “We start before your chores. Up with the sun, we will meet here on the grounds. Yes?”
You nod.
“Good. Good. Wear dirty things. You will get knocked down. A lot.”
It’s your turn to raise a brow.
“I will show you what to do. Then, you will carry on for the day. I have much for you to do. Not the busy work, but Aspen needs rest. She is getting sick, and injury is in the future. So, you must pick up some extra work. Not much, but I will need help with deliveries for messy hall.”
“Mess hall.” you correct.
“That’s what I said: messy hall.” she smiles and releases you. “The tin. I expect you to use for a tenday. Twice a day. If you do not, You will have much hell to pay. Yes?”
The smile hasn’t really left your face. Strange. “Yes, Dita.”
“Good. Get cleaned up.” she turns her back to you and hoists her skirts. “I have charm to use.”
She leaves, leaving you and the tin to rest.