[b]Beauty is in the eye of the beholder[/b] [u][b]Dojoville Outskirts, 1800 hours[/b][/u] Why was that stupid quote running through her pounding head? Divia, was that her name? Yes, that was the name she had been given, but was it hers? Probably. Wondered as she pulled herself to her feet. Her left arm hurt and was swollen, probably broken, but her right arm was okay. Her pants and shirt were damaged, with scabs forming over the torn skin beneath. Her legs still worked, she needed to move away from the steep granite cliff face looming over her. Left, right, left, right. Don’t let yourself sway too much or you’ll fall and might hurt that arm even more. She found a cold, murky pool, and saw herself in it. Her hair was two colors. On the right it was a blondish-gold, what parts of it weren’t matted with blood, and the left was an inky black. Her eyes, blue on the left and brown oh the right seemed almost mismatched to her, though that might have just been because of the reddish-Brown stain tracing its way down from her hairline into her eyebrow, then spreading out like a river delta tracking downwards to her eye. It drew her eye to the red pocket on her black sweatshirt. [b]The old stories used to talk a lot about how really strength comes from the heart. It’s mostly all junk, but maybe heart is what ties in to the ability to keep going.[/b] More of those strange ramblings, like introductions to a lecture. Out of instinct, she closed her eyes and focused on that red pocket. No, on the strange glyph written onto the skin underneath. The warm red glow covered her. In her minds eye she examined herself. The wound on her head was the most serious. She looked at it, and maneuvered the tendrils of healing magic to slide the slender shards of skull back where they belonged, and carefully restitched the torn skin and ruined blood vessels. The scrapes along her arms and legs were easier. The epithelial tissue was made for this sort of thing, and the lovely little layers of pink fresh skin grew easily. Last the arm. It was a cleaner break, the sort of fracture you get when you throw your arms out to catch yourself from a fall. The bone set, and the little seam sealed over then chiseled away, good as new, in less than a minute. Divia opened her eyes and cupped her hands into the waters, noticing another pair of glyphs on her left palm and the back of her right hand. Interesting. She drew the cold, clean water up and washed away the bloodstains from above her eye and along her limbs. Then, without too much thought for it, dunked her head underwater to furiously scrub the blood out of her hair. Was it a bit vain? Probably. But bloodstained young women tended to attract attention, and she held the sneaking suspicion that that might not be the wisest thing to do. And so, when she heard footsteps as she sat by the waters and wrung out her hair, she tensed and dashed upwards, landing in the branches of a nearby tree, hand on one of her knives, peering out to see. [spoiler]open[/spoiler]