I SHOULD HAVE HELPED | reminiscing

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— s͢uv̷i͡ ̷k̛iir͜a ó f͞a҉olá҉in | t̢àn̢glewo̧o̷̢d̷͢, t̶h̨e̵ ҉ty͝p̵ho͞on͞ | medic —

Something about singing lulled the petite vixen.  Soft.  Melodic.  Soothing.  Yet half-way to the source she had to stop.  Something wet on her cheeks.  Kiira blinked.  Rapid movements, brows creasing in sharp confusion.  My mother sang to me.  I̡͟͝ ͠h̨a̶̴v̛́e͘҉ n͘o͝҉ m̛o̧̕t̡͘͝h͟e͘r͢.̕͏  She struggles with the warring memories for a second before the conclusion snaps into place.  Into a simple reality.

It may be Suvi's memories leaking, of a mother who sang, but the simple fact rang true in their merged mind.  No mother.  So, she sniffed, shaking her head clear.  Why had she been drawn over here?  A familiar voice singing.  The scent of plants hits her next, soothing her as she found herself padding into a garden.  Delilah.  Of course.

Her stomach clenched.  Both Delilah and Wormwood were familiar to her, the latter more so (she didn't really know anyone, did she?).  She lingered on the edges, watching with silent, mitch-matched hues.  Delilah's abilities awed her, always.  A beauty in the capacity to bring life.

Shyly, she smiles, no doubt seen by now.  Even as her lips move, an ear disappears, only for a second.  The other twitches, as if noticing the brief absence.  "… H-hey." Her greeting is soft, as most her words.  Her eyes seem fluid, more focused on the plants around her than the two in front of her. 

She failed to recall why she delved down the medical field, some old, lost memory guiding her (I've always done this).  Regardless, she began to feel less and less relevant.  T̢͏͞h͝ę͟y ҉̀d͏͝͞ón͡'͞t̶́͝ ̸c̷̢͏ár͢e̴҉.́҉   Four moons away, locked in the Pitt's temples brought her down, to a level lower than she ever remembers being.  Lost.  Alone.  Frightened.  Confused.  So confused.  W̢h͏͠a̵̛t̡̨͟ ̧if̛͢͠ ̴I͝ ́ju̴͠s͟҉́ţ͞ ̷̧̕f͝a̸̶d̸͘͜e͘͞d͏̛ ̷͠a̵w̷̛a͏y͏?̵͠

Kiira fights the thought but she feels left behind.  Betrayed.  Ev̕erỳón͘e ҉alw̕ay̶s ̛le͠a͜v̴es̀ m̸e įn t̕he̢ e͡n̴d.̸  And as she finds herself home, everything seems to go wrong.  Arrow.  Leroy.  Beck and Sam.  Red.  So she tries to work instead, shoves herself in studies and restocking her own supplies and training her raven companion, Fiachra, how to help her... She doesn't take care of herself.  But the idea barely breaches her mind.

"Y-your garden looks great, Delilah," she murmurs, eyes brightening, just a tad.  A true fact to the fellow plant enthusiast.  "I-I mean it always does," she adds sheepishly.

— T͏O̴G͠ETH͏ER̕ ÁT̴ ̸T̕H̶E ST͏ART̶ O͏F̀ ̵TI̡M͏E —