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The Guide’s house was a small, ramshackle thing, barely more than a log house held together by nothing more than some nails and luck.
Still, it was warm, and had a roof, and a bed, and four walls and a table and that was all that Conner seemed to need. Until such time as Terra managed to get her hands on some better building supplies--things stronger and sturdier than plain logs and less likely to catch on fire--here he would live. At the very least, it was an improvement over the worn-down tent he had used the first few nights after they met, until she got the foundations for this house up.
Terra steps over the little stream that runs in the front of the house, the one that she had made a very small and somewhat unnecessary bridge over shortly after. A few slimes dithered about, the eyeless creatures bumping up against the wall in their attempts to move forward, but none of them paid her any mind as she entered.
“Conner? You here?” She asks as the door creaks shut behind her. It wasn’t exactly common for the self-proclaimed Guide to be out during the day, chopping wood or foraging berries and nuts or tending to the small farmplot they had made out back. At points, he seemed more like a Woodsman than a Guide, at least until she asked about some strange monster or ore or item she found in her excursions underground.
“In the back.” The voice was slightly muffled by distance, but sure enough, Terra found Conner looking over a mess of papers and tomes on a desk in front of him. He turns his head slightly to acknowledge her coming in, but doesn’t look up. “How’d the excursion go?”
“Fine.” Her backpack was heavy with ore and other riches, though she hadn’t been able to fit the loom she had found in an old underground bunker in the magical bag. “Hey, I don’t suppose you have any idea how to treat burn wounds, do you?”
The chair squeaks, and Conner looks over his shoulder at her, eyebrows furrowed together. “Burns?”
Terra nods. “Yeah. I, uh, found a really cool wand underground, but I’m still not used to magic all that well. I accidentally scorched myself trying to use it. I thought I should ask if you have anything before I went to see Heather, because she would just yell at me again for not being careful.”
“Yeah. I got some burn cream in the kit.” Another squeak as Conner gets up from the chair, joining her in the kitchen where the first aid kit sits. It’s dangerous enough at times that keeping it out is easier than having to put it away, only to pull it out a day later.
“Thanks.”
Terra takes a seat at the table, careful to have the injured side of her hands face away from the grainy wooden table. She had done her best to sand it and make it as smooth as possible, but it just wasn’t as nice of a job as it would have been without her usual supplies--or her usual help.
A few seconds later, Conner pulls out a glass jar with some rope tied around it and a small tag at the end of said rope. The bottle itself was fairly sized, about the size of a small candle, but looked to be fairly empty of the pale-green cream inside.
“You said it’s your hands?” Conner asked, taking a seat at the other end of the table.
Terra nods. It was more irritating than actually painful, but considering she was deep in the mines it made getting out rough. Conner had told her there were items she could find that would enable instant transportation to the last place she slept, but she had yet to find one of those.
As it was, the red, angry welts from the misfire made her hands cramp and holding a sword hard. It didn’t take long to realize she’d be useless like that, but it took longer to actually get up.
“Here, let me see.”
She rests her hands on the table as Conner opens up the jar, before taking her hands in his own.
“They don’t look too bad,” he muses after a moment of studying her hands. “Apply the burn cream for a few days and you should be right as rain.”
His movements are gentle, careful of the welts on her palms and fingers, and done with practiced motions. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Yes. All the ingredients that I used in this are locally sourced.” The cool cream feels good against the angry red welts, and she lets out a small sigh. “Well, most of them. The Shiverthorn plant isn’t strictly necessary, but it definitely helps increase the potency of the burn cream. So if you ever find yourself out in the mountains, getting a few of those would be great.”
Conner finishes up the application, and she slowly flexes her hands. “You know, even though I know you’re part of the Order, it still fascinates me that you know all about things like this. Back home, only the doctors knew how to make burn cream from scratch.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Conner’s face make a complicated expression, hands pausing halfway between returning the lid to the jar. “Yeah, well,” he says after a minute, too quickly before she can make out what, exactly, that expression meant. “I’m part of the Order. It’s our job to know all these survival skills alongside random knowledge.”
The burns still hurt, but the cream definitely helped. Terra, with careful movements, is able to pull her hands out of the half-curled claw-like position she found herself taking up without realizing, the cream glistening against the light of the candle on the table.
“Still. Makes me realize how much about the world I don’t actually know outside of carpentry and woodworking. Plus, you did just save me a trip to Heather’s--and the earful that would come with it.”
Conner’s lips twitch as he stands up, jar in hand. “She yells because she cares. Just because you’re one of the Blessed doesn’t mean you can’t still be hurt.”
Terra shudders. “Yeah.” Though her brushes with death were few and far between, none of them were exactly experiences she wished to repeat. It was why she was extra careful investigating any golden chests she stumbled upon underground now.
The mention of Heather, though, makes her pause as Conner goes to put the jar and the first aid kit back. Surreptitiously, she glances over at her housemate, eyes darting over his figure as the Nurse’s words ring in her head.
How many times a week can you come in with severe lava burns? That was what Heather had said a few weeks ago, mumbling to herself as Terra had waited in her office with her broken arm cradled to her chest. At first, she thought she had misheard, but now… The jar did seem well-used…
No. Terra cuts that train of thought off. He’s probably had it for a long time, is all. Besides, how would a woodworker get burned?