Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of blood dripping to the floor was the sound that allowed the woman to concentrate.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"> You can do this Rebecca. Just concentrate harder.</span>The stinging of the gash in her leg had gone away long ago, and now she was on the harder part: The actual healing. Perhaps it was because she had no one to teach her, but it was always draining on her. She could heal many types of wounds, but each one took the same amount of energy and almost always left her drained.<span style="font-style: italic">Maybe if I continue to practice itâ€™ll get easier.</span><br/><br/>It was as the skin began to heal, meld together once more, that a voice pierced her concentration causing her to jump. Of course, it was just the father figure that she traveled with: Ahrim. A small sigh escaped young Rebeccaâ€™s lips as the gash began to bleed once more. She knew they did not have much left, and suspected that he was leaving to find some work.<span style="font-style: italic"> Might as well earn my keep as well. </span>One look out of the window, and Rebecca grabbed a bag full of gypsy clothes.<br/><br/>It was ten minutes later that she was dressed and on the street. Normally, she would heal for money, but that didnâ€™t pay nearly as well as her other talent: Dancing. Her slender body moved with the music of the celebration and each person who passed took in not only her ability, but her beauty. As she twisted and turned, gold piece after gold piece was dropped into the bag by her feet, and for just a while Rebecca was calm.