#molvis

“What- happened?” Avis croaked, voice finally remembering itself. Molly shrugged facially.

“I was gathering herbs in th’ woods and I ran into… something. Not really sure what it was, it was dark and I didn’t get a proper look. I was lucky t’ get away t’ be honest…” she appeared to instantly regret being honest as Avis’ expression dropped, fairly thudding through the floor. “Don’ look so injured, Avis, I’m the one with a broken arm,” she teased weakly, humor strained but sharp, and lacking none of her usual pragmatism. Under her stern, loving glare, the vampire pulled herself together, taking a deep breath, wishing she hadn’t, and trying to follow Molly’s example of set jaws and a sturdy persona. She never understood how the woman did it, and admired it enormously: she was so sure, so certain, and ceaselessly practical. No energy was wasted in panic, she simply bore down on whatever problem was facing her with a steadfast ferocity that was less rabid and more inexorable, wearing into life with all the inevitable calm poise of an ocean carving into a cliff.

“Right. Okay. Tell me what to do,” Avis said, glancing around and spotting an apron. She looked enquiringly at Molly, who nodded at her, sickly face nevertheless amused at the painfully apparent fish out of water. “Get the pestle and mortar and mix myrrh, mustard, lemon peel and hyssop. It wants t’ be in a smooth paste.” Avis dutifully started gathering the herbs- Molly’s cupboards were well stocked, and soon she had an acrid smelling mush, which she was eyeing with a degree of trepidation as she passed it to Molly, who wrinkled her nose at it. “Yeah it doesn’t smell great. Lucky I don’t have t’ swallow this one,” she winked at Avis and muttered a few words into the bowl before handing it back. “On th’ arm, please, love, gently if ye can, and get the eye and all, while we’re at it.”

Avis gathered some of the balm on her thumb and sat on a chair next to Molly, focused on the swollen elbow joint, which was laid at an unsettling angle like some sort of pale twisted root vegetable. Carefully, she ran the coated finger over the witch’s skin, bent close to make sure she could see and trying not to think about how close her face was to Molly’s as she worked. As she coated the injury in salve, warm, living skin that felt hot under her undead fingertips was an aggressive reminder that her dearest might have slipped from her that day, out in the woods. “Is- that enough?” she asked, glancing up, almost nose-to-nose with Molly. The other woman nodded, expression unreadable, but looking considerably less pained. “Ye- yes,” she said, blinking, “That’s- loads better. Thanks…”

Avis nodded, biting her lip and tutting sadly as she took in scrapes on Molly’s cheeks and reached for more salve. “Let me get your eye,” she murmured, gently dabbing at the swelling with the salve, tender movements that became smaller and longer, index finger ambling slowly over the injury, small sweeps like a painter’s gentle strokes. Molly sighed in relief, closing her eyes as the pain visibly left her face, and Avis’ hand, free from salve, wandered sideways from her eye to cradle the hedgewitch’s head, fingers sliding gently among greying hair as she made gentle motions of comfort with her thumb. Molly’s closed eyes didn’t catch the wonder as Avis saw her in a rare moment of stillness, half lent on the table and expression peaceful, and Avis felt with certainty that this was the most precious thing she’d held in her fingers in a thousand years of life.