A flicker of apology crosses her face, but she doesn't voice it. Instead, she spends a moment briskly examining the damage. Old scars. It isn't a surprise. If Loxley had scars, and he traveled with Richard, they'd surely have gotten into all the same scrapes.
She is very, very careful where she sets her hands down over the damaged skin. The touch is very light, her palms cool. Derrica draws in a deep, deep breath.
The shadows bend down closer as cool green light washes forth from her palms. It comes like a chill, as if the flow of energy should leave a bristle of frost in its wake. But it eases the burns. Derrica's palms move as she works, directing all that green light down along the ragged scarring.
Her hands lift when she's finished, bracing herself on the bed rather than prolonging physical contact. Richard hasn't offered any objection, but she has a sense he would rather vanish back under the blankets now that the work is done.
no subject
She is very, very careful where she sets her hands down over the damaged skin. The touch is very light, her palms cool. Derrica draws in a deep, deep breath.
The shadows bend down closer as cool green light washes forth from her palms. It comes like a chill, as if the flow of energy should leave a bristle of frost in its wake. But it eases the burns. Derrica's palms move as she works, directing all that green light down along the ragged scarring.
Her hands lift when she's finished, bracing herself on the bed rather than prolonging physical contact. Richard hasn't offered any objection, but she has a sense he would rather vanish back under the blankets now that the work is done.