Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tyria is a world belonging to Arenanet and NCSOFT in the form of the Guild Wars franchise.

I also only in part own the Foundation-Hub (. org) unofficial universe, in which this story coincides.

Chapter 3: Skin of Secrets

Doubled over in pain, Orla continued to shriek. She tried her best to hold her cries, hide her weakness. She could take it, she had felt worse. Once again, unwelcome thoughts of her past returned to her. Claws drawing designs in her skin, the heat of the spell, the damp breath on her face as he whispered incantations, and those cruel eyes that gazed with curiosity into her own.

So absorbed in her memories, she clenched tighter in fear when she felt a clawed hand tug at her collar. She bucked and jerked, trying to break free.

"Calm down!" Srykar roared.

The volume and intensity of the order caused her to freeze, and at last the agony began to subside.

"We need to get her to water." he continued in a quieter tone, "she has burns on her neck and torso."

Srykar and Seven somehow managed to carry the girl all the way down to the spring-fed watering hole.

As soon as she was lowered into the clear water, Orla relaxed, and the last of the burning sensation ceased from her neck and side. Srykar immediately set about removing her bloody garments leaving her in undershirt and slip.

The old charr rose to leave. "I'll go get her some clean clothes. Seven, stay here in case she needs anything."

"Yes sir."

Orla sat up, keeping her head and shoulders above the water. Her body felt exhausted, as if she had run for hours without stopping. She brought one of her swollen hands to brush her cheeks and she felt them smear a thick substance over her skin. Glancing at her reflection, she let out a sob. Blood. Her face covered in it, her hands were stained with it. The blood of three people.

Vigorously she tried to wash the clotting blood away, weeping in both disgust and pain from her broken hands.

Seven grasped her forearms, holding them beneath the water. "Orla, stop! You're going to injure yourself. It's only blood, it can't hurt you." He pulled out a rag and waded to a spot close next to her. "Let me clean you up."

Seven accepted her exhausted silence as assent. Cautiously, he washed her face and, in an attempt to raise her spirits, chuckled and said, "This reminds me of two winters back. Remember when the rain caused a landslide and two of our cows were trapped in haunch-deep mud?"

She nodded and replied, "Yes. You fell, over and over, but when you finally rescued the cows, you were so happy."

"And plastered in mud," he added, relieved that she was talking.

She smiled in recollection, "It took me hours to clean your fur, and in the end we were both soaked."

He laughed as he scrubbed her arms. "And then we fell asleep, sprawled out on the floor by the hearth trying to dry off."

"And we still got sick."

The brief cheerfulness was followed by silence. A state of gloom hung over them.

Orla touched the branched scars on her neck and could see that they went down her side and over her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Seven immediately panicked. "Wh-what's wrong?!" he asked.

"I'm just happy… that you're ok." she replied still fingering the scars radiating from her shoulder.

"No. What's it really about? Do the scars still hurt? And your hands are turning purple, you should keep those in the water to cool."

She shook her head, though she lowered her discolouring hands into the soothing pond.

Seven was confused. "Then what's the matter?"

"You wouldn't understand."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I think I can muster the brain cells."

"The scars… they're permanent, aren't they?" Orla asked, struggling to keep her words steady.

"Umm, well they'll fade a bit… but… yeah probably." Seven sat in the water beside her, the water rising to his chest. In all honesty he did not understand her problem. Scars were a sign of honour. Instead he just placed an open paw on her unscarred right shoulder.

The girl scooted closer to her companion, tucking herself against the side of his chest. After a few moments of silence she started to speak, "It's stupid, I know. I should be glad I'm alive, that you're alive… but… my face." her last words were barely a whisper.

Seven felt so stupid. All too often he would forget that his assistant was not a charr, but a human. "I'm sorry," he muttered, unsure of what else he could say.

Orla sighed and gave him a hug, careful to not use her hands. "That's alright. I'm just being silly."

Seven started to say something that he at last had the guts to say, when he heard Srykar's heavy footsteps.

"Hey," the old charr barked, "Will you couple of fish get out of there?"

Seven reversed normal roles and considerately, though clumsily, helped Orla out of the water and into the giant towel Srykar draped around her.

"Once you're dry I have some clean clothes for you, little kit."

Orla smiled at his term of endearment. "No, the towel is enough for now. I just want to go home."

—-

The songs of crickets and frogs penetrated even the thick walls of the farmhouse in the late spring night as Seven tried to make himself comfortable in a chair. He had let Orla use his bed, certain his leg could put up with one night in the cushioned chair in front of the hearth.

Srykar sat in the chair across from him staring at the crackling embers in the ancient Ascalonian hearth. "Seven," he barked lowly, "we need to talk about Orla."

"What do you mean?" Seven asked, confused.

"We can't keep her here."

"Why not?"

"Did you get a look at her neck?"

"Um, well yes, it looks like some sort of acid burn, but from the inside."

Srykar leaned forward in his chair. "Seven, she's been hexed, badly, and it has been there for a long time."

"I -?" Seven stopped, sinking back into the chair. After a moment of silence, he continued, resigned, "I knew… I knew this wasn't just some kind of burn. But still, I hoped – I… it's just that I thought hexes don't normally make someone stronger."

Srykar explained, "It's not an uncommon practice among the Flame Legion, for the more cautious slavers, to place hexes on their merchandise. It's to keep them under control."

Seven made his disgust at Orla's treatment evident with a sort of low growl.

The elder nodded in agreement of the sentiment and continued, "Usually they disengage the hex after they are sold, and that was done. But sometimes, if the one who cast the spell is more powerful that the one who breaks it, the hex will not completely disappear. Instead, only some of the glyphs are removed, leading to strange side effects, such as that murderous rampage we saw earlier."

"So, is she going to be alright?"

"No," Srykar shook his head. "I think it's likely to get worse."

Seven almost rose from his seat in panic. "Then we can take her to a mage! Surely there is one powerful enough."

Srykar shook his head at the young one's suggestion. "Back in the day, I saw many unbroken, long-ingrained hexes. They are very hard to break and cause much physical damage. She will need adequate medical care as well."

"Then we can take her to the Black Citadel! There are many good medics there."

"Seven, she is human. Though there are many healers there who could work on her, they can only offer general medicine. There is no one in Ascalon that would know how to cure this serious of a problem in a human."

Seven could not believe what he was hearing as his hackles rose. "What are you saying Srykar?"

"I'm saying we need to send her away."

The younger charr's jaw dropped. "W-we can't do that!"

"Listen, I have–,"

"No we can't! Have you forgotten these last two years?!"

"Of course I haven't!" Srykar snapped in a barely contained growl. "I also know that both of us have grown far more attached to her than we ever should have. Don't you see Seven? If she stays she might live for years, decades even, but not without immense suffering. If we let her go, she will have a chance to be free, live her life in good health, find a mate, or mates if she takes after me, and die among her own kind sixty or more years from now. Something like that does not happen for a human in Ascalon."

Seven glared at the floor, his stomach twisting around and around inside him. The retired legionnaire was right.

Srykar sighed wearily. "The best way we can show, er… care," he grimaced awkwardly, "is giving her this chance."

—-

Orla bit on the quilt that covered her to keep from sobbing. She had not heard much of the conversation, but she heard enough. Her heart was a dancing whirlwind of emotions. She dearly wanted to stay, she was happy, and most importantly, she made Seven and Srykar happy. However, at the same time she knew it could not be. Like dozens of serpents she could feel the scars under her skin burn away at her flesh, slowly consuming her.

Still, there was a tingle of excitement mixed in. She would be going to the human land, Kryta, where she could be among others of her kind. The idea both made her overjoyed and very scared. Would humans like her? She had grown up among charr, the only people she ever cared for were horned felines. Would that be a problem? It all felt so strange.

She closed her eyes tight, hoping that maybe she would wake up and all that had happened would be just a dream, and that tomorrow, and every day after, she and Seven would be guiding the cows through pleasant pastures.

—-

A few hours later, Orla was startled awake by a massive clawed hand on her shoulder. Her eyes peered into the gloom up at Srykar's massive face.

"Shh, kit, get up. We need to talk."

She rose and stretched. "What time is it?"

"Early, hurry."

She followed the veteran out to the homestead's porch.

He turned his back to her. "First, my kit, I believe we share a common… acquaintance."

Orla yawned and replied in monotone. "Yes, his name is Seven and he's indoors, warm, and away from the bugs."

The old one shook his dark mane. He meaningfully touched her burned shoulder rubbing a clawed finger at the base of her neck for effect. "I think we both know a certain someone."

The girl trembled like a leaf. A single word escaped her quivering lips. "Caelmurg…"

Srykar looked deeply concerned by her reaction. "He was the one who hexed you, correct?"

All colour had drained from Orla's face. The base of her neck began to throb at the memory, of a long, coarse tongue and sharp teeth that once dug into her collarbone. But her mind could barely imagine the pain, it was absorbed with the sight of that charr's smiling, curious and cold eyes that looked back at her as she had writhed in pain and disgust.

Srykar could not bear to watch the girl's face as she relived the memory. "Orla, you don't need to tell me what that dog did, but you might have to when you go to the humans so they can determine the hex he used."

She nodded and shook off the nightmarish image.

Once he had her attention Srykar continued, "There is a group of humans allowed safe passage through these lands this time of year, provided they cause no trouble. I'm friends with their leader, a Krytan merchant and scholar named Limmock. If he doesn't know how to cure you, he knows someone who does."

"So I'm really leaving?" The girl's eyes filled with unshed tears. She looked away at the night sky.

"So you overheard?" Srykar pried, as he wrapped her in a gentle embrace.

She nodded and squeezed him back with her bandaged hands. Her arms just barely reached halfway around him. "There doesn't seem to be any other options. But I promise, somehow I'll come see you."

Srykar tactfully refrained from laughing at the absurd vow. Peace was not something that would come to Tyria anytime soon.

He was surprised when Orla seemed to reply to his thoughts. "This world doesn't make any sense." she muttered, holding back her tears. "So someday, I'm going to find a place where goodbye is not word."

"Shh, kit, you should go back to bed now."

"Yes sir…" She gave one more, tight squeeze to his huge body.

He cautiously returned the embrace and whispered, "Don't tell anyone of what we spoke of tonight, especially Seven. Let him continue to think that thing on your neck is just a slaver's hex, we clear?"

She nodded and walked back to the doorway where she stopped and whispered, "Thank you, for everything."

For a long while Srykar remained on the porch. My sire would be bent over in laughter if he saw me now, doting on a human girl, then he would beat me senseless. Love does crazy things. I thought I had avoided that word.

Thoughts?

First chapter of just... fluff... but hey, I like it. It is difficult to make a convincing scene with charr being all sentimental, but hey, these chaps have been out of the war-zone for several years, they probably can get away with some emotions besides "Wanting-to-tear-my-enemies-to-pieces-in-the-most- bad-kitten-way-possible".

Run on sentences, ho!