Healing Old Wounds
Lord Dorrien watched from the steps of the small clinic where he worked as the men in his village doused a large evergreen tree with naphthene. His first year in the town, he had been horrified at the tradition and had begged the townspeople to allow him to simply light globelights for the tree—a much safer alternative to celebrate the holiday. They had laughed at him, explaining that tradition demanded the burning of the tree, and Dorrien eventually had no choice but to relent. Surprisingly, despite the amount of alcohol consumed prior to the lighting of the tree, in all his years in the village, no one had yet been burned. Still, he watched each year just in case.
The men stepped back from the tree, shouting at each other. The wind carried their words away, but they seemed satisfied with their work, an assumption Dorrien confirmed a few moments later when one of them struck a match and tossed it at the fuel-doused tree. The flame caught on the fumes before it even reached the tree, and a fireball exploded around it, driving the men backwards. Even Dorrien, who stood a few dozen meters away, could feel the heat on his face and noticed the slight haze from the fire.
As the flames roared into the sky, the men around the fire congratulated each other, and Dorrien let out a sigh of relief that another year had passed without any injuries. Just as he was considering retiring for the night, he heard shouts of alarm, and his Healer instincts immediately sprang to life. Glancing around, he noted that the activity seemed to be centered on the opposite side of the tree from where he stood, and he quickly strode that way. When he reached the other side, he saw a crowd of people surrounding something on the ground. It did not take long for Dorrien to part the crowd and make his way to the center of the group where a man lay on the ground, a heavy blanket on top of him and a young woman bending over him. "What happened?" Dorrien asked.
The woman looked up, and Dorrien noted that she was quite pretty and also a stranger which was unusual in the small town where he lived. "He got a bit too close to the flames. I managed to smother them and was just about to start first aid though I am sure you can do much better than me, Lord. . ."
"Dorrien," he supplied. "Do you have first aid training?"
She nodded. "My grandmother was a medic. She taught me a good deal before she died."
"Well, if you don't mind staying, I could use the help." For the next few minutes, they worked together to stabilize the man and take care of the worst of the burns. Once Dorrien was satisfied that he would recover completely, he allowed some of his friends to take him home while he looked back at the woman who had certainly not been lying about her first aid training.
"I'm sorry; in the chaos, I'm afraid I never got your name."
"Palla."
"Well, it is good to meet you, Palla. I assume you are not from around here?"
She shook her head. "My grandmother lived in Westin, and she raised me after my parents died, but when she died, I became a bit. . . restless. It was time for me to move on from Westin, so I came here."
Dorrien was not sure what compelled him to make the next offer, but the words were out of his mouth before he could fully consider the implications of them. "If you are interested in staying longer, I could use someone to help in the clinic with the simpler cases that do not require magic." Her eyes widened in surprise, and Dorrien knew it was an odd offer for someone he had just met. However, something about the woman told him that she would be a good fit for his clinic, and his instincts were rarely wrong. In addition, she was the first woman for whom he had felt any sort of attraction since. . .
Dorrien forced those thoughts out of his head. It was best if he did not think too much about his past relationships or lack thereof. It would only bring heartache.
"That sounds great," Palla agreed, and she smiled broadly at him. Immediately, Dorrien smiled back.