He smiles. He squeezes her hand. He lets go.

She is going to run through this several more times, until the broken bone portion of the healing spell is refined and efficient.

Tarakova is happy to help.

This sort of thing is draining along with being painful. She has complicated, fiddly work to do, while in pain, and she has to willfully have Tarakova break her hand every time it's done healing.

After the seventh time, she needs a break between finishing healing and having her hand broken again. She leans against the tree and focuses on breathing deep, shuddering breaths, tears streaming down her face.

"I think," she murmurs, "one more time through, and then I go lie down for a while."

"You look lovely," he observes.

She laughs, a little.

"What, while crying? Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," she says, a little wryly.

He giggles.

Little smile. More breathing.

Then: "Okay, yeah, I want to finish this up now, I'm almost done."

She holds out the hand that has been broken seven times already to Tarakova. Eyes closed, because otherwise she might be tempted to flinch.

Squeeze.

This time she whines while letting out a little sob.

And then it's back to healing.

It's pretty great.

This healing run through is shorter than the others, she finishes up the thing she wanted to figure out. After a once-over to make sure that everything's working properly, she hisses and shoves her magic so it heals at a more instant speed. With a painful sounding snap and a muted yelp from Navethae herself, her hand reasserts wholeness.

"Ow," she mumbles, half-heartedly, leaning against the tree without even bothering to stop the tears.

"Well that was very attractive."

"What, all of it, or that part at the end where my hand put itself back together all at once?"

"All of it."

She snorts, amused.

"I did get that impression, yeah." Significant look. "I'm glad you had fun."

He grins. Goodness those are some teeth he's got there.

She smiles back, anyway.

"Now if you'll excuse me," she says, wobbily standing, "I have a date with a bed that I need to collapse face first into."

"Have fun," he says.

The valley provides a spontaneous door.

"You too," she replies, dry.

And then through the door she goes, and presumably into the bed that is right after it. Face first. Flomp.

And Tarakova - goes and takes a minute somewhere else.

Yeah she doesn't have the mental capacity to think about the two thousand year old ex-Emperor touching himself while thinking about her right now.

She doesn't even want to sleep, she just wants to lie here and not do things, especially not break her hand some more.

"Do you have music selections available," she mumbles into her pillow. The valley can probably hear her.

A harp sidles into the room and begins playing itself.