Page 56 of Alien Healer's Touch

"The mineral content appears optimal for healing," Kavan said, kneeling beside the water and letting his lifelines test its composition. "No acidic compounds."

I gingerly removed my torn sleeve, examining the gash on my arm. "Not too deep, but deep enough to need attention."

Kavan removed his pack, retrieving the few medical supplies we'd salvaged from the facility. His movements were careful, favoring his uninjured side.

"Let me see your wound first," I insisted.

He hesitated, then nodded, lowering himself to sit on a smooth stone beside the pool. I helped him remove the upper portion of his garment, exposing the full length of the injury—a long slash that curved from his ribs around to his back.

"The depth is inconsistent," I noted, examining the wound with professional detachment despite our proximity. "Deeper at the entry point, then gradually shallower."

"I turned away as the claw made contact," he explained. "A reflex action."

"A good one." I cleaned the wound carefully with water from the pool, noting how his lifelines brightened at contact with the mineral-rich liquid.

From our remaining medical supplies, I extracted a small vial of healing paste we'd created using both Nyxari traditional medicine and compounds from the ancient facility. As I applied it to his wound, I let my markings connect with his lifelines, using our bond to direct the healing energy more precisely.

"The integration of our techniques creates a more efficient healing matrix," Kavan observed, watching as the edges of his wound already began showing signs of accelerated regeneration.

"The whole is greater than the sum of its parts," I agreed, finishing with a light dressing. "Your turn to practice on me."

We switched positions, and Kavan took the same careful approach with my injury. His touch was precise, clinical, and yet... something else transmitted through our contact. Concern. Care. Something deeper that neither of us had fully articulated.

When he finished treating my wound, neither of us moved to break contact immediately. His hand remained on my arm, our markings pulsing in synchronization.

"We should rest here briefly," he suggested. "The healing compounds work more efficiently when the body is not actively stressed."

I nodded, too exhausted to argue. We settled beside the pool, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. The warmth of the spring enveloped us, easing tense muscles.

"The water here," I said after a moment, "it has properties similar to what we found in the medical facility. Not just healing minerals, but something else."

"It enhances connectivity," Kavan confirmed. "In ancient times, Nyxari healers would commune in such springs, sharing knowledge through their lifelines."

"Should we..." I gestured at the pool.

His eyes met mine, a question in them. "It would be beneficial for our recovery, but the experience may be... intense."

The unspoken implications hung between us. Since using the Aschan Diadem, our bond had created moments of profound connection. Immersion in these waters might deepen that link beyond anything we'd experienced.

"I trust you," I said simply.

We removed our outer garments, keeping minimal coverings for modesty, and slipped into the pool. The water enveloped us like liquid silk, instantly soothing. My markings responded immediately, lighting up with silver brilliance that reflected off the turquoise water.

Kavan lowered himself opposite me, his golden lifelines creating complex patterns of light beneath the surface. When our legs accidentally touched underwater, a jolt of sensation shot through me—not just physical, but a flash of memory.

A young Nyxari child, standing before a circle of elders. The weight of expectation. A choice between warrior training and healer arts.

"Was that..." I blinked, disoriented.

"A memory," Kavan confirmed. "My naming ceremony, when I chose the healer's path against my father's wishes."

"I saw it. I felt it." I stared at him in wonder. "The pressure to follow tradition, but the pull toward healing was stronger."

He nodded. "My father was a warrior of great renown. The entire settlement expected me to follow that path."

"But you couldn't ignore your calling," I finished, understanding with perfect clarity. Not just intellectual understanding, but emotional resonance—I felt what he had felt.

"As you could not ignore yours," he replied softly. "Though your path came with different pressures."

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