Xantcha was speaking to the young girl as they were walking over to the campfire, choosing the lesser crowded of the two. 'The Ritual of Restoration is what I use when healing a person who is near the brink of death, or is soon to be so, but has not yet lived out their full potential. We started it at the battle-scene where you killed that bear, remember? An unnecessary death, yet, from what I have seen and experienced from this group, an unavoidable one. Kish will weep over his carcass tonight, and that of his brother, whose death, and no doubt many others' living in these forests, could have easily been avoided if that young woman had managed to restrain herself. I suspect rainfall tonight.'
She looked up at the sky, and by the light of the fire, there seemed to be a small sparkle in the priestess' eyes. Was she crying?
She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and scraped her throat. 'Sorry, but that was not what you were asking about. You probably haven't even heard of Vinkara in your young life. The pains, yes, the pains you were asking about. Well, we started the ritual earlier, but had to interrupt it due to complications' She was speaking again in her cold and monotone voice from before.' The ritual needs to be completed, or what little good the interrupted ritual actually managed will be undone, with the gods striking you and me both for the heresy that an incompleted ritual is. They do not look kindly upon lip service. So, girl, if you will, sit down.'
They had arrived by the fire.
Xantcha took from her robes a battered goblet, made from what appeared to be silver. It was inscribed all over with symbols and letters that made it clear it came from a faraway place. She took out her pouch of herbs and her deerskin waterbag, and lay the three objects on the ground, sitting down in front of them in an odd sort of pose, that had her right leg beneath her, and her left leg bent under her chin.
'Vinkara, we return to you, for only in your arms and by your judgement can we be absolved, and reach our full potential in body and spirit.'
She took the crushed mint out of her pouch, and threw it in the cup.
'Vinkara, we offer our gifts to you, and hope that we be repaid in kind.'
She uncorked her waterbag, and filled the cup to the brim.
'Vinkara, we bring you one who is in need, and pray that your mercy may reach her.'
She stood up, taking the fragrant cup from the ground with both hands, and turning around to face the fire.
'Vinkara, our death is always in your hands'
She plunged the cup with both hands into the middle of the fire, and thought she heard the familiar startle from the girl behind her. They were always so surprised. Xantcha had been too, the first time. 'Magic', she had said out loud in the temple where they were healing the wounded man. But this was not magic. It was simply faith.
She turned around again, and handed the liquid, which had now turned a dark purple, but still smelled of freshly picked mint, to the girl.
'Drink', she spoke. 'Drink, that you may feel better'.
She sat down beside the fire and closed her eyes, momentarily exhausted.
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