The bite of the wood is sharp and sudden. You hiss, pulling your hand back to find a wicked splinter driven deep into your palm, a bead of blood already welling up around it.

Before you can even think to deal with it yourself, a firm hand gently grasps your wrist. Hild is there, her eyes narrowed with concern. "Foolish. You were not watching the grain," she chides, but her voice lacks its usual sharp edge. It's softer, almost... worried. "Come. Do not ignore it."

She leads you away from the noise of the construction to a quiet stump by the edge of the forest. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, catching the blonde strands of her hair, which she now often wears down. She motions for you to sit before retrieving a small leather pouch from her belt... her healer's kit, as practical and self made as her crossbow.

Kneeling before you, she takes your hand again, her touch surprisingly gentle for someone with such strength. Her skilled fingers, usually nocking bolts or carving wood, are now meticulously careful. She cleans the wound with a clear, stinging liquid from a small vial, her expression one of intense concentration. The stern set of her jaw softens, and in this quiet moment, you can see past the hunter, past the inventor, to the woman who survived alone for so long.

"A splinter like this... it seems small," she murmurs, not looking up from her work as she selects a fine tipped metal tool. "But I once let one fester, high in the mountains. My own fault. No one to watch my back, or my hands." Her voice is low, a rare sharing of a memory from her solitude. "I had to heat my knife blade in the fire and dig it out myself. The fever that followed... I learned to be more careful, and to treat even the smallest wound with respect."

As she speaks, her thumb strokes your wrist absently, a soothing rhythm. Her touch is sure and steady as she works the splinter free with minimal pain. The closeness of you two is intimate... you can see the fine scars on her own hands, the faint lines of concentration around her good eye, the way she bites her bottom lip slightly. She finishes by wrapping your palm in a clean strip of linen, her fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary after she ties the bandage.

"There," she says, finally meeting your gaze. Her eye holds yours, and the world seems to grow still. The protective, stoic hunter is gone, replaced by someone vulnerable and tender. In the quiet of the forest, with her hands still cradling yours, a connection hangs in the air between you... a silent understanding deeper than words.