[This post is from Bryant Tapping’s point of view.]
Her hands were deft, her movements certain—she knew what she was doing, he had to give her that. Bryant could tell that much easily enough. While he didn’t have his father’s skill or much in the way of training, it was easy to see that she’d been a healer for a long time—perhaps as far back as the end of everything.
She seems like she would be a little young to be like Dad, though. His lips thinned despite his attempts to keep his expression impassive as he watched the stranger work. There was something oddly comforting about it, something that if he reflected on it a little more would certainly be less odd.
In her mannerisms and her actions, she did remind him of his father. It had been so long since he’d seen him, it was enough to make him ache somewhere deep in his chest.
For a second, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, it was to see her watching him, her expression soft, sympathetic.
His brows knit. “What?”
“You just seem sadder than you were a moment ago.”
He forced a smile and shook his head. “It’s nothing. How is he?”
“I’ll need to mix up a few things to try,” she said. “Hopefully they’ll help.”
Bryant nodded slowly. “Have they helped your friends before?”
“A few times,” she said softly. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve had to mix up any of it, so we’ll see how it goes.”
“But you still have what you need?”
She smiled wistfully. “Of course I do. I live in hope.”