βYour wounds are not deep, but the flesh is tender. I can treat it, but it may burn a little. That being said, you need to fly, keeping you down here or doing you no good at all β she explains, fishing a salve from her basket
βStay still, my darlingβ she whispers in her own language, moving to undo the metal collar that has been in place far more than it shouldβ move your neck around a bit for me
And I know a flight would do her well too, Syrax, she has spent an awful amount of time in between those walls. β she speaks, still caressing her neck.
How to tell her, she knows perfectly well what it is to be bound to the ground, longing to fly? She couldnβt.
Oh dear, have you flown at all this last few days?β she dares to ask, being gentle, and even a bit hesitant when running a hand through the scales of her neck