Varg has proven herself and there are many questions in Xīlōxōch’s mind as the party heads back down the mountain. She looks at her companions — Varg exhausted, Nix battered, Gorranach the healthiest of them. She taps Gorranach on the shoulder to draw his attention.
“I’ve always wondered, Gorranach — why did you choose to be a doctor? And not just any doctor, a battlefield doctor, putting your life on the line with every patient.”
Gorranach spares a glance up at the tall Xīlōxōch before his focus returns to the muddy ground, taking care not to slip. “Battlefields and natural disasters. The highest concentration of wounded.” He sighs, and for a few moments it seems like this curt response will be his whole answer. “I owe you something more truthful than that, don’t I? Having bled together more in one week than any Dragonguard unit does in a century.”
When he continues, his words betray a weariness his stoic stride is trying to conceal. “I didnae start studying medicine to save lives. The dying were convenient. They needed help, and I needed practice. Not that it did any good in the end.”
Xīlōxōch is caught off-guard by Gorranach’s answer. She expected a long and boring tale about how he was inspired to become a healer, but what she heard was entirely different. “Practice? So you just felt a calling for it?”
He shakes his head. “No calling.”
“Hmm… was it duty then? Or was it something else?”
Gorranach stops in his tracks. He looks up at Xīlōxōch with a troubled look on his face. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it and shakes his head. “I’m nae supposed to tell you.” He continues walking and adds: “It was the farthest thing from duty. A stain on me. A selfish thing that endangered my family’s reputation.”
His fist is clenched. “I wish the ground wasn’t so fucking wet.”
Xīlōxōch thinks of a way to diffuse the situation and speaks up hastily. “It… it’s our influence, probably. When water meets the earth, there’s mud.” She keeps walking and remains silent for a moment as she scrambles to think of what to say. “So, I assume you’ve changed since then — that’s more than I can say about myself. Have I ever told you why I started dancing?”
Gorranach takes in a deep breath, then releases it slowly through his nose. “I would actually quite like to hear.”
Xīlōxōch is happy to see Gorranach calm down a bit and smiles. “So I have your attention then? Good — I’ve still got it.” She clears her throat loudly and speaks with a deep, booming voice:
“That’s how they introduced me before unveiling the curtains — a bit dramatic, isn’t it? Believe it or not, there’s some truth within all that theatre, the part about the dragon. I have dragon blood in me. I learned about it when I was dancing as a child and I’ve been riding that high ever since. I dance to remind myself of that faithful day.”
At first stunned by the vehemence of the display, Gorranach eventually chuckles. “Well, it’s good to be proud of one’s heritage. So how exactly does one learn they’re a dragon while dancing? You spin and suddenly there’s scales?”
“Close, you’re good at this. My wings turned into dragon wings and slapped everyone around me — I might have also shot a lightning bolt into the ceiling.” Xīlōxōch shrugs.
“That must have caused quite a stir.” He looks towards her with clear concern on his face. “How did your family react? They could not have been happy about you standing out.”
“Quite the contrary, actually — I’m not the first in the family with dragon blood. In the moment they were concerned because I almost burned the house down, but standing out wasn’t a problem. If anything, they wanted me to stand out.” She says this with a look of pride. “They called it a gift, but some gifts come with their burdens.”
Gorranach nods. “That they can. What kind of burden?”
“Some gifts can be too much, especially for a little girl. The ceiling caught fire from the lightning bolt, but the adults were quick enough to put it out. Still, there’s been a responsibility on me ever since.” Xīlōxōch’s prideful look slowly fades as she continues. “A responsibility to control myself, among other things. I’d imagine responsibility is something you know all too well, being a doctor.”
“To control yourself? That’s a bit different though, don’t you think?”
“In some places, doctors are expected to help more than they actually can. There’s a burden to that I can understand.” He looks at Xīlōxōch with a raised eyebrow. “But not actively hurting anyone is nae something I’ve ever considered as a burden.”
“Do you think I chose to shoot that lightning bolt into the ceiling? That was the burden — fighting over control of yourself when your body wanted to electrocute everyone around it. Thankfully, I learned, and now I only electrocute those who deserve it.”
“Was it that hard to control?” Gorranach seems genuinely intrigued as he gets out one of his notebooks and briefly jots something down. “Was it the power that was hard to control, or yourself?” He looks up, awaiting the answer with quill in hand.
Xīlōxōch chuckles. “Huh — I’d say a mix of both. I could feel the energy course through me when I got emotional. Wasn’t the easiest controlling that as a kid. And as we all know, I have perfect control over my emotions.”
Scribbling down the rest of the sentence, he says: “I think if someone had attached a sharp scalpel to my hand as a child, I’d have found that a great burden too.”
“Thank you for explaining, Xiloxoch.” Gorranach almost gets the name right.