Sepsis

"It's...quite large, for an emblem."

"We need to get people's attention, don't we? We can put one on each side of the wagon. So that everyone gets the message."

"Oh. So...that's me, then?"

"Of course. You're the one we want to promote."

"It's just, I don't completely understand how this conveys that I'm a healer?"

"You can't just paint a picture of 'healing.' You need to use symbolism! What's the first thing you'd do to treat someone with a knife sticking out of them?"

"Well, I'd assess the injury..."

"After that."

"...and gather supplies..."

"After!"

"I'd...remove the knife?"

"Exactly!"

"So...that's why there's a hand holding a bloody knife over me."

"Obviously."

"Is that your hand?"

"True art's open to interpretation. Go mix me some more red paint."

She deserved so much more than this.

The idiot had blathered on about the virtues of healing all day, about all the good they were doing. She had been sorely tempted to tell him some things about the real purpose of their assignment, but held her tongue. It would hardly do to jeopardize her true master's favor.

She hadn't wanted a master, and here she was with two. All because she couldn't heal. As though that would have made her somehow superior. She had never wanted to heal in the first place. She wanted to spread devastating plagues far and wide, against whatever targets were considered acceptable. She wasn't picky.

Sighing, she slipped past Flytrap's snoring form and made her way to the back of the wagon, where a large jar sat in the corner. Pariesis had given it to her before they left on their tour of all the least significant places in the land. She patted its side idly, and it blinked at her, grin stretching wider. The false tooth she'd made it wiggled a little bit.

She hopped up to the top and pulled up the lid that the jar would only let her open. The inside of was spacious, large enough to hold all her most precious and secret possessions.

And one aggravated Fae.

She slipped down inside, pulling the lid closed after her. It was snug, but she was small.

The bone-rattling snores stopped instantly. The jar was uncommonly soundproof, a property she put to the test immediately by screaming out every bitten back curse and complaint she'd accumulated over they course of the day. It took a while.

By the time she finished with a long, wordless howl of frustration, she was panting for breath. The nostril-holes on the inner surface of the jar flared open, providing a rush of fresh air.

At least something is paying attention to me, she thought as she curled up between her things, suddenly sleepy. It was surprisingly comfortable in there.

She deserved so much more. But at least she had this.