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She had come here asking for remedies and rubbing oils.
Stahl observes the young girl across the counter. Her face is obscured by a plain black hood, though the ends of her hair that frame her cheeks remain visible.
Pure white. He thinks it’ll be pretty under sunlight.
Bottles and pouches of herbs line the basket she gave him. He places it on the counter along with the change, not missing the way she reacts to the strong scents of the medicines, and reads the record aloud to make sure she has everything.
He sees a small smile form on her lips as she nods.
“That’s everything. Thank you,” the girl responds, a hint of an accent in the way she speaks. She reaches out to take the basket.
Earlier, Stahl noticed that she had a thin fabric carefully wrapped around one of her hands. Now that he has taken another look, he notices faint traces of red and yellow underneath.
She tries to curl her hand, but winces. Instead, she prepares to hold the basket with the other.
“Wait,” Stahl manages to interrupt her before she leaves, and he almost sighs in relief when she stops to listen to him. “Do you have anything for your wound?”
There is a hint of alarm on her face before she shakes her head. She looks around and lowers her voice to a whisper. “No, I don’t.”
Is it such a wound she is not allowed to show other people? More than that, he’s worried about the hidden wound getting infected and further complicating things for her.
“Can I see? …You don’t have to show me everything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
A moment of hesitation passes before she accepts. She peels back the top of her dressed wound.
The skin is tender, a few spots raised. There are areas where it is redder. It is likely sore to the touch and the cause of her being unable to use her hand.
The marks almost look like lacerations from how small they are. If there is a pattern, he can’t recognize it based on what he currently sees — just a small curve.
He rushes back to where the burn ointments and dressings are, pocketing one of each before ‘bringing her the change,’ an excuse he comes up with when asked by his bantering family why he’s in such a hurry.
Hopefully, they don’t ask him about the missing items later. If they do, he’ll just have to take the scolding.
“Would you like me to dress it for you?” The jar is now resting on the counter.
Palm up, Stahl gently places his hand on the table. The hooded girl allows her hand to be taken in his.
He tries to keep his hands as light as he can while working through such wounds. The dressings are delicately unwrapped little by little. Stahl apologizes when he makes her flinch, and he begins to treat it.
He catches the way her face subtly changes when the soothing ointment is spread on her hand.
Looking at all of it, the wound appears deliberate. There is a hint of a pattern, but it’s not fully formed on her hand to be recognizable. It’s incomplete, as though the process wasn’t seen through.
It’s something she didn’t want to show others, so this secret is as good as his, now. He tells himself to not ask questions in spite of his curiosity.
“Some of these still might leave scars,” Stahl mentions as he begins to redress her hand. “But for most of them, they’ll gradually fade.”
“Your hands,” the girl speaks, still observing the way he wraps the light fabric around her hand. “They have plenty of scars themselves.”
Her sudden interest in his hands makes him smile. “I’m alright! I’m training, you see.”
“Training? Like fighting?”
“Yes!” Stahl’s face glows when she mentions it. He shows her the calluses that formed from him learning how to wield his weapons. “To become a squire.”
Abruptly, he hears an older woman call out in the direction of their shop.
Stahl misses it the first time. It might be a language he doesn’t know. The second time, he tries to remember how she says it, because the hooded girl turns around.
Ru-fle.
Her name. It’s one he doesn’t immediately know how to spell, and he doesn’t know how long he can remember it.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she remarks with a hint of regret in her smile, remembering to take the basket with her other hand. “Thank you for treating my wound.”
The girl walks away with a woman he presumes to be her mother, with the way she addresses her in the common tongue. They’re both in cloaks that most Ylissian folk wear, although the hoods raised over their faces are rather uncommon.
He sees them disappear into the crowd. He hopes he can see her again soon.
For now, he’ll have to prepare himself for his family’s teasing. He had definitely kept her too long to simply just be giving change.