[A young person with an unfortunate haircut stalks through the trees. They kick a rock and instantly his in pain, lifting their foot to inspect the damage. A huff escapes their lips, deeming the injury unsubstantial before turing around.]
The hell are you? Some kind of freaky priest? What's wrong with your eye?
[They look Jude up and down, judgement painting their voice. They chew on their lip before averting their gaze. Nails dig into their bruised arm, agitating the damage. A tremor decieves their conceited tone like a growling chihuahua's shivers.]
What did you get fed as a kid? It's obscene for a person to be that tall.
The man stares down at Asa with a lack of hatred in his eyes, like the harsh words had hardly brushed his skin. He chuckles to himself, just loud enough to be heard, but isn't in poor taste towards Asa themselves. He glances down at the bruise on Asa's arm, and where the nails had dug into skin, blood welling up in small droplets from their nails. In a motion swift and fluid, he pulls a jeweled dagger out from somewhere beneath his robes, and a gutting noise of knife to fabric enters the air.
The man slices his own robe, what was likely a holy garment. The torn piece falls into place like it was never missing, disappearing between folds and pleats created in the green. The man gently moves Asa's arm with warm hands, guiding with a force that feels natural, and ties the torn fabric against the bruised arm.
"Freaky priest is a new one. I think it suits me, though. You're not entirely wrong. Call me whatever makes you happy, but my name is Brother Reeves. And I assume my parents fed me the same thing that most parents in France feed their children. I just got lucky."
Brother Reeves looks at his work, as if he is admiring it. His medical knowledge seems extensive, he put just enough pressure on the wound to not hurt or alter mobility, but enough to stop the bleeding. He tucks the dagger back into his robes somewhere, just as lost as it was before he pulled it out. He doesn't address the eye, or Asa's hurt foot. There is a humorous twinkle in his eye when he looks down at Asa, as if he is taking in their appearance, but not with judgment.
"I like your hair. When mine grows out longer, I'll be sure to go to you to get it cut. Be gentle with yourself. If you need anything at all, I've found the materials for a small shelter twenty paces deep into the woods. You can find me there. Or you can go yourself if you need a quiet place to rest and be alone. Whatever suits your fancy."
Words hang in the air, but Asa can't tell what they are. Brother Reeves is leaving something out, and he won't be saying it any time soon. The metal eye glints in the sunlight, Brother Reeves' visible eye squinting at the rays. He isn't looking at Asa with the hatred of a priest or preacher. He must be something beyond modern religion. He looks pleased with Asa's company and his lips curl up in a real smile.
