Eln listened carefully as Wakine told him of his people and their ways. He would have to accept the young man at his word that the woman was not a witch, and therefore posed no threat. Certainly, the matter of her grief gave him pause. He could not imagine any man seeking a witch's bed, let alone living in her house. Neither had he ever seen a village tolerate one. Still, such powers made him uneasy. He would have to see for himself.
"For the benefit of the village," Eln echoed. "Hmm." He watched the young man gesture to his cheeks. The scars were strange. Eln was not accustomed to seeing men bear them at all. The markings said nothing of his mother's house, nor of his kills. Things were different here. This was not home. As Wakine said, he would need to learn. That thought, too, made him uneasy.
He inclined his head. "In time, perhaps we will," he agreed. "It has helped to know your words. But for now, I should rest." He did not finish the thought aloud: that the pain of the horn wound was beginning to wear him down. There was no sense in rubbing salt-ash in the young man's tears. He was already ashamed of a thing Eln did not understand.
And, on the subject of what he did not understand...
"Wait. Wakine," Eln added hesitantly, with a furtive glance towards the witch. "Your people...they do not intend to execute me?"
