That birthday prompt! I can imagine Hanin trying to keep it low-key in the Clan but here comes ol' Malina, slapping his back and handing him the very thing he wanted, booming in her biggest voice, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HANIN, YOU SOUR CURD." Hanin scowls but thanks her. "And tankiuu for pwotecting us and keepin' the baddies and scary-scary thingsies awayy" she coos in her most sickening cute falsetto. Waits for his glare. Laughs and leaves him alone, satisfied. >XD
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HANIN, YOU SOUR CURD.”
Hanin grunted, rolling his shoulder where Malina had enthusiastically pummeled him. Much to his displeasure, the eyes of his nearby clanmates turned towards him, surprised at the woman’s announcement. No, not even announcement. Declaration.
“Thanks Malina,” he replied through gritted teeth, unable to force a smile even for show. She always had a way of destroying his carefully crafted plans. They were like delicate pottery before a raging druffolo. Doomed.
For her part, Malina just grinned and pushed something into Hanin’s unsuspecting hands. It was a small parcel, wrapped in crisp green paper, tied off with a white ribbon. He stared at it mutely for a moment, at a loss for how to respond. Sure, he had been expecting her customary public humiliation…
… but a gift?
No. It must be a trap. The second he pulled the ribbon and the whole thing would explode in his hands or catch fire. He just knew it.
“What’s this?” he asked shortly, first eyeing the parcel then Malina the way one carefully regards a slumbering bear. Malina met his gaze and arched her brow as if to say well what does it look like, genius? However, she scoffed quietly to herself instead, then suddenly reached out, clutching at Hanin’s arm.
“It’s a tankiuu for pwotecting us and keepin’ the baddies and scary-scary thingsies awayy!” Widening her eyes, she leaned forward, blinking exaggeratedly, pouting her lips and scuffing her foot against the ground in a somewhat disturbing caricature of childish innocence. Hanin cringed at the display which only made her break out into fierce laughter, reaching out to once again slap him on the back. “Oh, it’s just a present, all right? Take it or leave it, grumpy!”
Still lost in her own amusement, chucking with a kind of quiet satisfaction, Malina turned and left, offering Hanin an absent wave as she slipped away past the bonfire. Off to close the last of her trades already, huh? Hanin mused, then paused, surprised by the distinct fondness of the thought. He blinked, taken aback, but quickly busied himself with the package in his hands as if to trick himself into overlooking the fact. Around him, a few of his clanmates called out, wishing him a happy birthday in bright voices, before returning once more to their conversations. Hanin nodded to them in gruff thanks, but his attention remained focused on the gift. What could it be…?
Curiosity won the war against his concern. Despite knowing better, that was often the case. Carefully, he pulled the ribbon, then waited for a beat. Nothing happened. Somewhat satisfied, he continued, fingers pulling away the thin slip of silk then gently lifting the folded ends of the paper. Slowly, he unveiled what was nestled inside.
It was a jar. A salve. Frowning, Hanin picked it up, scrutinizing it, turning it about in the firelight as though he could somehow determine its use just by looking at it. He shifted, angling for more light, when something else suddenly fluttered from the parcel. A small piece of paper. Moving quickly, Hanin just managed to snatch it before the breeze carried it away.
Dear Hanin,
It’s okay to hurt. What’s not okay is to refuse to deal with the pain properly, understand? If I see you throw out that salve, I will pull every string I have (that’s a lot of strings, just so you know) and see you allocated night patrol for two months straight.
Apply it to that old chest wound of yours once a day, no more. It will help. Or at least it’d better. Do you know how long it took to find someone selling the proper stuff, not some snake-oil ripoff?
No, I suppose you wouldn’t. That’s okay. Just put it to good use. Use it like any other tool, all right? I’ll accept your compliance as a proper thank you, because I doubt you’ll actually give me one!
Happy Birthday, you grouch. Take care of yourself, you hear?
- Malina
Hanin re-folded the note and sat still for a long time, salve in one hand, paper in the other. A part of him wasn’t sure what to make of it. Wasn’t sure how she just knew. He thought he’d hidden it well. He’d been so careful not to let on, especially with the colder weather leaving the old wound stiff and sore. Yet…
… he huffed out a breath and smiled to himself, tucking the note safely into his belt. Then, almost as an afterthought, he unscrewed the lid of the salve and sniffed it. Surprisingly, it smelled of rich sap, almost like that of a pine tree although not quite as strong. But there was something else, too. Frowning, he breathed in again, trying to pinpoint it.
Vanilla.
It was one of his favourite scents.
Hanin chuckled and shook his head in disbelief, lowering the salve and carefully replacing the lid.
Well, he thought as he tucked it safely into one of the pouches at his side. I suppose she does always say she knows everything.
Guess it’s about time I took her word for it.
