She waited passively as he worked so hard to save her. Truth be told, she hadn’t even been fully aware of her actions. Did she do that? Aynur knew she did, but she didn’t remember making a conscious effort to do so. The woman glanced down at her now bandaged wrist and slowly turned it to and fro. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it tightly wrapped around her. She winced at the movement.

“It stings…” She whispered. “But I feel it is wrong for me to complain, it is self inflicted. It is nothing compared to having your fingernails ripped out and your fingers broken.” She drew her eyes up to where she assumed his face was. He drew in a sharp breath and from the feel, she knew he was close and for once. She was actually looking him straight in the eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with complaining. It - sometimes, you need to share pain. It -” He broke off, and she heard his hair sway as he turned away, and she felt his fingers on her arm tremble slightly before resuming working on her bandages.

Share pain…why? He was trembling? Was he cold? As he continued to ensure her wound was properly bandaged Aynur could feel the broken way he breathed in and out. It wasn’t just his hands, the tremble was on his lips. She cocked her head, ear toward him to catch sound of him better. He remained wordless as he continued to work.

She reached out to place an arm over his shoulder, her wet form was slowly sliding off his lap. Should she care that she was naked? He didn’t care. She forgot it was a thing, shame, decency. Those things were torn from her. Just like her eyes. She shut them and pressed her tired head against his form.

“Tristain...why are you helping me?” For a moment, he was silent, and so still she could tell he wasn't breathing. His fingers tightened on her wrist, and it was then he finally spoke. His voice, raspy and rusty, sounded discordant, off kilter.

“Because I have been here. And it is not a good place for anyone to be.” A heartbeat passed. “Someone helped me when I was there. It would be an insult to them not to help you.”

His words and actions implied just that. At some point he had tried to take his own life. Her heart sank at the thought. The thought that someone so strong, so kind and well of was in a place where they could not climb away from the dark hands of despair that clawed at her. Those very cold, dead hands and him in their grips too. Did this mean she had no hope of ever climbing out? Or was this his way of reaching out to her…?

Aynur lifted a hand to trace the marks against his skin. Bumps and ridges up his arm. She imagined the sort of things he may have done to himself to cause such marr on his body. Aynur wasn’t sure she’d ever understand him. She couldn’t do much. Hell, she was sitting here naked against him and she couldn’t even try to do anything physical with him. She didn’t have it in her.

Instead, she did the only thing she knew she was good at. She sang. She sang the song of serenity, a song taught to her from the clan up in the mountains. One that was sung in another language, in Ar’Tuel. It warbled and lilted around the room. Slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a gentle current of a melody. Her hand drifted idly up and down his arm as she continued.

If only she had some sort of power, if only she too could help him.