91st of Frost, Year 122 of Steel
The House of Waves
Kala had warned them that treatment for such severe physical trauma would be long and uncomfortable. This was not her first return visit, nor would it be her last. Sometimes the lord of the manor would be present, but often he was not. Sometimes it was easier for the patient when he was not hovering over her. His worry was palpable, and while not a bad thing in and of itself, the patient needed to focus on her recovery more than his feelings. It was a difficult lesson to learn, and Kala did not feel as though she was fit to teach it. Assuming she and Rickter survived as demigods, he would have plenty of time to learn it.
The house's staff knew her well enough now and she was welcomed. Unfailingly polite, she had sent word ahead whenever she planned to visit, and so they were expecting her. A servant helped with her cloak, revealing her oft disguised wings. Then, when her black leather bag was handed back, she thanked them. Now she knew to bring her full kit lest she be unprepared for anything she might find. Regrowing limbs was a challenge, and she had spent time in conference with her former teachers at the Tranquil Gardens to ensure she made no errors. Even so, it was a tricky thing; she could only do the best possible job and hope that the rest took care of itself.
"Ioniri willing," she murmured to herself, earning a curious smile from the servant who led her to the sickroom even though she knew the way well enough by now. Sometimes it was a kindness to allow other people to do such little things so they could feel as though they were helpful rather than helpless in a situation.