The silver haired healer made sure to keep his distance for only a day. Just a day for the girl to recover, for her to sort out what had happened in her own mind before hesitant gestures of comfort or words of empty wisdom. Anglachel knew there was not much he could truly do to alleviate the guilt and grief she was surely feeling. It was often all too easy to remember the ones failed than the ones saved. He knew all too well that the heavy weight of death never left them — each name left a permanent mark in them. He would never forget a single one.

There was not much he could do for the young healer — but oh did Anglachel want to try.

He spent the morning cleaning the ruined garden, salvaging what he could and planting new herbs. The task had taken hours, but he worked diligently, the only sound that escaped him was a soft hum — a song he used to sing to his baby siblings when they were barely days old. It was not the most beautiful song or voice, but it was soft and familiar, filling the silence as he waited for the girl.

Her scent reached him as he finished up planting a few stalks of cotton. "I didn't get your name." The former Saboran called gently in greeting, not turning from the swaying plants. "Come sit with me for a bit? I need a break, and company would be nice." Anglachel posed his offer gently, but there was a firm finality to his tone that would not leave room for refusal.

The walk back to the gardens did not feel the same. There was an uneasy feeling in the air, a tension that sent a chill down her spine and made her want to turn around and hide in her den forever. Leonora had always strived to try and learn, and use that knowledge to help others, despite her complete lack of vision making every step harder (sometimes literally). But since the death of Prince Wheatley, she had felt utterly useless - a fool that contributed nothing.

The blind healer had never thought much of the constant darkness that she lived with, but with her catastrophic failure haunting her every thought, the darkness felt like a literal dread that was creeping up on her from every angle.

She couldn't help but wonder: if she could see like everyone else, would she have been able to save the Prince?

It was her first time back to the gardens since Wheatley's passing, and all she could focus on was his lingering scent. Had they buried him? Did they bring his body to his family? She could never forget Haylyn's screams and cries, her desperate pleas for her son to come back. Leonora had caused her so much pain-

"I didn't get your name."

Though his voice was gentle, it still made her jump backwards in shock. She had become so oblivious to her surroundings as she moped that she didn't even notice that he was there. She stood there dumbfounded as she finally took in his scent, nose twitching as she registered it (he smelled different to the other Inarians, she realised). "O-oh," She stuttered, realising that he had asked her a question. "L-Leonora."

"Come sit with me for a bit? I need a break, and company would be nice."

She hesitated in her response, secretly wanted to turn tail and run back home so she could cry to herself. But she had always been too kind to refuse someone. "Okay..." Cautiously, she approached, taking a seat beside him. She angled her head so he knew that he had her attention, but her pale eyes stared blankly down at the cotton stalks that he had just planted.

"You d-don't...smell like other Inarians." Came her observation - one from a girl that had no clue about the horrors of war or the terror of a pack named Saboro. A girl that couldn't see that the man in front of her was crippled and scarred, but could smell the faintest scent of smoke and moisture that hung around him.

A girl that couldn't, and wouldn't, judge him like others may have.