Calypso was a dependable water-woman, healer of brawl wounds and bringer of mum-ish commands. Still, he relied on her rather frequently to patch up the worst of his injuries, and so he had walked to the place he always managed to find her. Yet, as he lumbered along the shore, the woman hadn't miraculously appeared as she usually did.

Perhaps she was off saving lives, as she seemed so good at; a moments thought spared to the death of Erna and how she rather inconveniently brought her killer back from death. Still, with his face rather torn up (yes, again) and lacerations around his spine, he continued on his meander towards the tunnels in the hopes she might appear.

@Hazel

When Hazel manages to put the cubs to sleep, she uses that time to start rebuilding her garden… again. With the drought killing her plants, she can’t help but realise without her cubs to be priority, it would have lived. No matter - and no regrets are had, either. Not for a second. Thankfully there are babysitters within the Oasis, and usually she has a few hours before they begin to wake. With that in mind, Hazel moves quickly to collect today’s plants. She secures the best and is on her way home, her mouth and satchel full, when she nearly runs head-long into a brutalised lion. "Oh -" She says, dropping the plants in her mouth in an almost ladylike gasp of fright - almost. "- fuck, sorry." The druid pulls her plants into a bundle with a claw, coral gaze snapping upwards to the big man’s face. "Has that been tended to?" Her gaze narrows in doubt - she already knows the answer. @Violarum

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He spared a moment to note the clearness of the skies in these parts of the not-woods; a lack of distant burning smell and ashy after-taste. He wasn't much of a beach man, but he could certainly appreciate the calmness that seemed to be non-existent as of late.

Violarum, too, is caught off guard as @Hazel suddenly happened upon him; but with the reaction time of a sloth he fails to jump, instead slowing to a wide-eyed halt to ogle at the earthy-fleshed lioness. He shrugged eventually at her apology, entirely unfazed, if anything glad for the company.

"No, was looking for Calypso to help..." he almost assumes everyone knows her at this point, "Can't find her though." A quiet frown, half-hearted, crimson gaze wandering from lady features to the herbs she had dropped.

@Hazel

"No idea who that is," Hazel says with a shrug almost as equally nonchalant as the male’s. That said, however, she certainly makes a note to find this Calypso - if she’s another healer, as the druid assumes, it can’t hurt to have a friend in the trade. Hazel’s ear flicks absently. "Well, I was just in there and it’s empty, so she’s not home." Never fear, however, stranger; Hazel can’t help herself when it comes to treating injuries. "Sit," she orders, not asking if he wants help, but simply falling into medic mode. "Actually - lay. I can’t reach your back, you’re too bloody tall." Oh, it feels nice to swear. No kids around to hear her and copy her bad language here.

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He pouted thoughtfully at the tawny lioness, "You should." Calypso was a good sort, helpful with her herbs and motherly wisdom - did @Hazel need some wisdom? Blocky skull cocked, cheek caked with dried blood and peeled skin - she was young he supposed, like him. Maybe she did need some Calypso wisdom.

Though, there comes a command and the stern-ness of her voice near remind him of the water woman herself, and suddenly he decides: no Hazel, is mum-ish enough on her own. Obediently his burly backside flops, half-hunched like a reprimanded puppy before finally reclining. Expression his typical child-like Vio, despite the conflict of his burly build.

He sits, and then lays down under her sharp gaze. Hazel nods, pleased that her patient is not going to whine about being bossed around by a woman - honestly, she would have left if there was so much as an itoa of argument in his stance or tone. Once she might have insisted, even fought to heal him, but her patience is thin these days, and her priority needs to be on her children, Seneca and Andal. Not some argumentative… Firnen lion. Hazel flinches at the scent he carries, having no idea that he is now in fact it’s sovereign. "I probably should," she says softly, distracted as she inspects the lion for his injuries, moving from his face to his back and spine and noting the thick cuts there as well. "What happened?" Hazel asks curiously, but by no means distracted from her work. She begins to work on his back first, using some dry moss to clear the blood as best she can. Attempting to heal @Violarum: Rolling 2d10: 10 + 3

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Once upon a time, being bossed about by a lioness brought a pouty reaction from Violarum; even now perhaps, he does not like to be commanded. Yet, he has lived enough and known enough women to understand their will was usually stronger than his own, and things typically worked out easier when one was... obedient.

Regardless, Violarum is not a bossy sort, and he eases down into the sand, a quiet regard paid to rumbling thunder overhead. "Vaghan," he mumbled, annoyed even at the thought of the creepy guy who spoke in a kingly sort of asshole way and said inappropriate things to his wife.

"I got his toe though... it was gross," a momentary flashback to the detached digit, the likes of which didn't seem to bother his opponent that much. "You're from Andal?" he had a habit of befriending Oasis ladies, apparently.

@Hazel

Again, another name she does not know but stores away for later. With the wounds on his back cleared, she inspects them again before turning to her plant stock and making a paste of some of them to fight infection and help the skin heal faster. "You took his toe?" The druid pulls a face, as if picturing doing the deed herself, and quickly remembers she had… done worse. "... I hope he deserved it." She adds, softer, but she had very little room to judge all things considered. Even if she had been defending herself. His back tended to, the lioness returns to his face and begins cleaning it. "Mhm. I’m the scout there. One of the medics." And the king’s… whore. Mistress. They hadn’t put a name on it and Hazel prefers it that way. She can pretend to be unattached and unaffected when his wife returns or he finds another bed to warm for the night. It doesn’t bother her. It doesn’t. "I’m Hazel, by the way."

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Violarum is rather oblivious to the changes within his own mannerisms and ideals. Once, he might have aspired to be just like Seneca; with an army of children and a harem of beautiful women. Now, he wanted little more than family and friends - and his one love.

Sill, a small part of him still admired plentiful Kingdom's, laid out with various riches - women included. "Violarum," he offered in return, "King of Firnen." Gotta flex sometimes y'know. "You're good at this," he says, paying little mind to staying still as she worked upon his face, hardly a patient and focused sort.

"He did, he's mean and creepy," a rather childish way of expressing his dislike for the grey lion, but it was true.

@Hazel

Violarum. King of Firnen - oh. Odd. She was sure it was another. Her brows knit together as she works, smearing past across his face and all the cuts on it. "Let that stay on there, it will dry and flake off by itself. Do not lick it off. It tastes awful and you’ll get the shits for a week." That is normally enough to keep even the worst patients from removing her medicines. If he still ignored her, well. He’d suffer. She makes a note to keep away from any lions with that name he gave her. Mean and creepy. Her mind again flicks back to the lion that had attacked her - but he had a different name. "I’ve been practising since I was a teen." She says, stepping back with a smile. "Right. You’re all fixed up, your majesty."

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