27th Trial in the Season of Ashan - Arc 718
One, two, three, four.
Hookor stood by the entrance of the clinic, and counted the coat hooks that sat together adjacent to the front door. Professor Faith, as he knew her, had suggested he would introduce him to someone in the Order of the Adunih, and so he was here to be introduced, and hopefully, to begin helping out at the local clinic.
So he was here. So he was here.
One, two, three, four...
Still four hooks. All empty now, but it was early in the morning. Hookor looked down at his feet. He noticed, at that moment, how long his feet were. Compared to the feet of humans. He looked at his hands. Long and slender. Fingers all long and slender. Surgeon's hands, his father had said many times, usually in jest. Horace Crook, Hookor's father, was a simple man. Not of simple mind or wit, no he was adept in those regards, for sure. It was part of his charm. No, simple of need. Simple of intent. A simple approach to life. That was Horace.
Hookor was not his father.
Hookor was obsessed with all things medicine. Surgery, palliation, healing, medicinals, all of it. It was all knowledge that he craved. Volunteering as well, was a chance to gain knowledge. That was why he was here. Hookor did enjoy helping people, immensely, but that was not his driving catalyst. No, it was the desire to know things, all things, that drove the half breed.
A gift from his Eidisi mother, Sophora. Crook had little recollection of her, as she had abandoned him in his infancy. Too much shame to keep and raise him. That fell to Horace, who did a fine job. However, though never having direct input into who he was, the Eidisi woman had provided her legacy as a historian and academic...passed it down to her bastard son.
Hookor looked about. It was quiet. He heard some 'tinkling' of glassware out in the back room, located passed the chairs and stools of the waiting room where he now stood.
Stood waiting...