Born of Blood

Chapter 30

The comb raked through her strands with the delicacy of a mother's touch.

The walls of the restroom were a stark white, and the light that filled it bloomed across the paint, battling with the grey of the morning storm clouds that dampened the atmosphere through its many large windows. The tub was a claw tooth, old and antique with its cool white surface, though a beautiful accent to the quiet restroom. A large mirror sat above the sink, covered by a warm fleece blanket, tucked around its edges. Scarlet sat sideways on the closed toilet seat, allowing Merula to brush through her thick and matted hair. The land had not been kind to the girl, rolling in mud and leaves had dirtied it from the clean state her Mate had put it in days prior. She wet a brush and dragged it through the strands, running it frequently under the water and using a hand towel to clean the dirt and leaves that came out of it. The splashing of the stream from the faucet echoed dimly through the tile room as Merula left it running on low.

Scarlet was embarrassed, her stomach churned and her already warm face felt hotter at the cheeks with shame. This was a stranger being kind enough to make her presentable to her pack of absolute strangers after her terrifying display. Cleaning her hair, wiping the grass and leaves from it, putting a cold washcloth in her hands to blot her swollen eyes with, she was being kind when she didn't need to be. When she had every right to hate Scaret as much as this pack already did. She sniffled, her crying slowing to a burning on her waterline and a warm nose, while pressing the damp cloth to her bleary eyes, hissing as a tangle tugged at her scalp. Merula was speaking to her every few moments, calming her with the song-like reverberation that hummed around the cold tile bathroom, but Scarlet didn't know a lot of what she spoke about.

She was talking about the land, naming the trees and mountains, describing formations she had never heard of before. She wanted to follow, to understand, but her brain couldn't conjure an image to a lot of it, and she was lost in the ocean that was her voice. It was deep, but soft, and her fingers were thin but strong as they parted a new section of her hair.

"The whales come this time of year, they are beautiful to watch. They travel with their pod to the same spot, and we all take our time throughout the winter season to go and stand in the water. To feel their peace and their power." They sounded beautiful, but Scarlet didn't know what a whale was.

"I've got all your tangles worked out," she spoke happily as she set the wet brush on the counter, running a hand through her now fuzzy hair.

She reached across to the left hand side of the sink and daintily wrapped her fingers around the handle of a marbled white and brown comb. It was shiny and smooth, and it's broad teeth were long in length. She ran that, as well, under the water, along with her other hand and dragged her wet fingers through Scarlets hair. The comb wasn't as painful as the brush and Scarlet was thankful the tugging of her scalp was done.

"This comb is made from whale bone, our pack many decades ago hunted whales for food. They never wasted, not even the bones, so they would make items out of them to honor the long life of the animal." Scarlet simply listened, trying to imagine what a whale would look like.

She was afraid to ask, to open her mouth and speak to this stranger that had been nothing but understanding and kind to her situation. She didn't know whether to trust it, to cling to the positive attention this woman brought, or to loathe it. To see it as a trap set up by an unknown territory, where she had undoubtedly attacked their Alpha. Was it a ploy, or was it honest? She thought it best to remain silent, instead, and listen to the names and creatures and lands this woman spoke about in the hushed whispers that echoed off the white tiles decorating the bathroom. She could only remember Malkún, she could only remember her pain and servitude, it had been her whole life, and though she wasn't physically standing on their earth she felt as if she still was; as if it was hardwired in her DNA to be subservient and weak.