It had been hours that Levani was seated, reading her book, fingers impatiently rubbing the textured spine, eyes occasionally glancing up at her ward. One leg was bouncing towards the end, swift, restless. The situation deigned to pull her several ways, for the call of the corrupted corpse begged her to come find it, to purge the world of its abhorrence, but curiosity kept her as rooted as the kamuna. In-between learning the ancient, cultured practices of the people of the north, she slowly watched the ugly gash on his shoulder seal, leaving a seam of scabbed flesh. Then that too began to fade, replaced with new skin - healthy skin - as though he hadn’t been profusely spilling his lifeblood from it some time before. It was hard to be in awe of the knighting practices of peoples possibly long gone when a man’s fatal wounds healed in under a day, right before her,<i>on her bed</i>.<br/><br/>When dawn still had a few hours to go, Levani finally paused to break, placing her book down on her chair and taking leave of the tree. She greeted the pitch night, the cool air that toiled on her heated skin, wicked away the sweat of effort and exhaustion. Her body would not be thanking her, when she finally decided to rest herself. The guardian awaited her, earthen, patient, so still and serene that morning larks perched on it, rifling their beaks through their feathers.<br/><br/>Hardly a short time later, Levani returned to the tree, a fat hare in her hand with a broken neck. She peered in on the man who remained sleeping, his breaths stronger now, though more troubled. Using the sharp blade, she skinned it and tied it to her rock and clay companion, allowing its blood to drain, promising to make a stew of it later. She did not worry about predators - they did not venture too close to the kamuna, their backs rolling when they reached the presence of her power.<br/><br/>Hands wiped clean, she returned to her seat, this time resolving to actually read the book, as opposed to simply skim the same page over and over again, interest of the man winning the better of her. After her determination had been set, she was consumed by it, swept up in the distraction, flipping through the pages as though a stranger wasn’t in her home, until his movement startled her. Less so, at least, from when she realized he was not a dead body.<br/><br/>Placing the book down in her lap, she observed him silently, as he did the same to her - though with more chatter. Questions. Questions were a good start, as opposed to acknowledgement of agony. She was thankful, at least, that it was a language that she recognized, though his tone was incredibly dissimilar to her own. Levani saw him eye her dagger, her staff, the corridor of roots that guarded her home; very much a warrior. She returned it with utter inquisitiveness when he removed the moss, revealing a soft scar where his stomach had been split open. Golden eyes widened, excited, calculating of the significance, wondering.<br/><br/>His last statement wrought from her a song of laughter, melodic and satin. It was not rare that a human told her that Asdenni was dangerous, misjudging her mask of skin, a statement that they would not dare if they were staring into her true face. A face with teeth that rendered flesh and bone, a body of the purest muscle to back it. By the gods, did she miss it. Her own, personal curse; to bear her true body was to tap into her wells of power - power that was needed to face the black. The trade that the gods had given her, in order to save her life, sparing her the madness that she’d been plunged into. It was not something that she took for granted often, remembering those days of shifting shadows.<br/><br/>“Says the man who I found at my doorstep, mostly dead,” she replied, her accent alien and flowing, woven from emerald and gold. Against his nature, wrought of stern metal, she was languid, amused. She was the cat in the trees, tail twitching, grinning at prey. Her gaze adjusted to his chest, his markings, and she tilted her head. “Yours are not like mine,” she supposed, one finger pointing towards the black ink on his skin. That was, of course, not assuming that his were cultural. Seeing that he had lived through the night, she thought instead that it was something more. “You should have died there, in the grass,<i>sul’ima</i>,” she added, standing from her chair and placing her book on the disheveled table. “But you did not. You are like me, I think?” She guessed, brow raised at him as though he would have the answer.<br/><br/>In truth, Levani was unsure if there were ever more. The gods of the wood, who she had known as spirits her entire feline life, had offered her sanctuary. They had given her a gift, with a minimal price, and she did not question about others. Only knew her task - keep the black from killing Asdenni. Fight it back, for as long as it took. They themselves created no others to battle alongside her, and she did not leave her forests.<br/><br/>“And yet, very not like me,” Levani added beneath her breath, noting the clear differences as she loosed a wooden cup from her shelf, hewn smooth and of cherry wood. She dipped it into the bucket of clean water that she had brought it from before. She pulled a jar of jerkied meat from the shelf as well, dappled with heady spices that provided an overwhelming aroma. She offered both to him and seated herself back down. “My name is Levani. Why are<i>you</i>here in Asdenni,<i>sul’ima</i>? You are certainly not of this place. I have been here for many decades and you are a stranger to me.”