She'd been misthios for so long, she forgot her name, how foreign it sounded falling from another person’s lips.
I think I need you, Kassandra.
So she stays, because everyone needs her for something. The next morning, she readies herself to leave, rolling out the muscles in her back, stretching between each snap of a buckle for her armor as it realigns itself over her body. Thick. Impenetrable.
But a hand, unclothed, reaches out to stop her from securing her arm bracers, the last of her defenses. Lykaon stares at her with big eyes, a question lingering in them that he fears to ask.
She glances away from his face, down to where his hand lays upon her. It feels foreign, like her name, and though there's want in the touch, it's not filled with greed, but something deeper, softer to the point where it cuts into her skin, penetrating and invasive.
I can't stay forever.
Her focus should lie with her family, her ship, the odd jobs that she piled on, neverending as the war continues to rage around them. Yet the words, as she struggles with them, pass her lips as she continues to avoid his gaze.
“I make no false promises, Healer, but... if there comes a time when I pass through this village again…”
Her voice trails off as he gives her arm a light squeeze before releasing it. “That is enough.” Taking a step back, he watches her finish dressing with a slight smile on his face. Perhaps this is goodbye forever, but somehow as the door shuts behind her she knows that it's not.