“Darlin’, that religion of yours is crazier than I thought. Most people can remember such things just fine without feelin’ the need to carve themselves up.” Wyl shook his head. He had been doing a lot of that tonight, but what else was there to do? All of humanity was just completely and utterly crazy! Humanity and the High Elves deserved each other completely and utterly. They were equally as bad. Maybe that was the reason why High-Elf magic seemed to be so easy for humans?<br/><br/>As soon as Dane Volen had washed himself and dressed his lower half – Wyl had looked shamelessly, and there was nothing there to be ashamed of, really, nor were there any wounds which was even more important. Once the man was dressed, Wyl kneeled down next to him and started digging through the numerous hidden pockets and pouches on his person.<br/><br/>“I’m gonna wash your wounds for you. Gonna be cold as Frost-mother’s tits, but a big, tough bloke like you’ll suffer through it. Especially if you’ve managed to survive this long with infected wounds. You must’ve the constitution of an ox.” He said as he pulled out several different leaves. The leaves were followed by a smaller pouch of soft cloth. He put the leaves inside the pouch and then put it to one side.<br/><br/>Grabbing the wet, discarded shirt, Wyl rinsed it as well as he could in the creek, and then turned to Dane Volen and started to run it gently over the wounds to clean them. His Dark Elf heritage came in very handy, and he could see passably in the dark. Enough to know where to be extra careful and where he could press a little bit harder to work out grime and dirt. Even the carved letters got the same careful treatment, and he wasn’t shy about touching the scars or digging slightly into them to get out all the crusted blood and even pus. Once that was done he discarded the shirt on the bank.<br/><br/>“You’re gonna have to grit your teeth for the next bit, luv, it’s gonna hurt and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it.” He warned the man as he picked up the small pouch with the leaves and dunked it in the cold water.<br/><br/>Wyl pressed down harder than before as he ran the wet bag over Dane Volen’s skin. If it had been daytime then it would have been obvious that the water running from it was dark green in colour. He made certain that the concoction ran into every single groove and slice and cut, old and new, as he rubbed it up and down. Halfway done with Dane Volen’s back Wyl stopped and emptied the bag, letting the leaves float away in the creek. He dropped the bag by the shirt and pulled out a new one and new leaves, dunked it in water and then started on the other side of the human’s back.<br/><br/>“So, while I’m touchin’ you in ways that you probably find thoroughly blasphemous,” he started, “what do you wanna be called? I don’t think you can introduce yourself as Dane Volen, Killer of All Things Goin’ Bump in the Night anymore. Got any ideas? If not then I’ll come up with somethin’, and last time I named somethin’ my horse ran off in protest. Still ain’t come back, the daft beast.”