Moonlit Ripples

Mahina climbed the rise to her sister's ritual site, which had been the ruckus in Night for several passings of the moon. The blood had run down the stones, collected by the occassional rain, and deposited into the lakes and rivers, dyeing the moonlit ripples an eerie red. She carried the only untainted water left in Night, saved in advance in a bowl made of crystal, which shimmered in the starlight.
Feral was surrounded by wounded bodies, some pierced with arrows, others slashed with swords. The stone wolves licked their wounds, the stags nursed their broken horns, and the owls huffed, lamenting lost feathers and clipped wings. Mahina went to each of them, wetting her hand in the bowl, and singing songs of renewal. Stone melded together, horn regrew, feathers sprouted like leaves. The Pyric warriors rose from their ash piles, and shuffled down the cliff, shepherding the healed intruders out and away.
Aggy watched as her flesh knit itself back together, as if it were an event of little comment. Mahina treaded carefully around the pack of Xilguar, for they were a proud species, and gave only the minimum of what was needed.
By the time Mahina reached the top of the rise -- where blood slowly pooled into the wood of the stump, and the thread of the moonlit spools -- only one dose of the water remained.
Feral was ragged, with cuts and gashes all over her body, and the shard of a horn broken off in her thigh. Her left eye was completely swollen shut, and her hair was matted down with blood. She was exhausted, unable to lift her head above her shoulders, but acknowledged her sister's presence with a light moan. Mahina replied, but they were not the words she wished to speak -- they were a ritual as old as Night, before time had properly grasped the realms.
Mahina: "Sister, I come with the last clean water in Night. All else has been tainted by the blood of your victory... May I heal you?"
Feral's voice was a rasp.
Feral: "No, sister. Pour the water in the circle."
Mahina: "Sister, your injuries are grave. It will take many moons before you could recover on your own. Days full of pain and weakness... May I heal you?"
Feral took a deep breath, and blood filmed between her lips, dropping to the earth.
Feral: "No... Pour the water in the circle."
Mahina gulped a sob, and spoke evenly.
Mahina: "Sister, you are strong. You have proven that strength. None will judge you, least of all I. So I ask you again -- three times in earnest... May I heal you?"
Feral's knees gave way, and crashed hard into the cliff. Her eyes may have glanced at the crystal bowl, but only Mahina could have seen it, and she would never tell.
Feral: "N- No, sister... Pour... Pour the water in the circle."
Mahina nodded, and walked quickly, feeling a swell rise in her throat. She could not cry -- the only clean water in Night was in the crystal bowl -- and so she tempered her emotions. Carefully, she poured the water around the circle, hitting each of the threads as she went. The blood washed away from the stumps, but not the threads, which remained their caliginous crimson. Mahina felt a piece of her own energy, so closely tied to the waters of Night, leave her body, and enter the working.
Her part in the ritual was complete.
Tears fell, and Mahina rushed to her sister, who she laid gently onto a bed of leaves at the edge of the woods. Some of her sisters were already there, resting after their ordeal... But Feral could not be healed. It would undo the enchantment, which had made a foundation on her pain. And so Mahina sang, but they were not songs of healing, and waited for her next sister to arrive.
The vision fades...