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Herbal Brew

Tags: Hraefengar,  Penniavas,  Nurenhir

Short Summary: Healing and herbs do not always taste well.
Date (real-life): 2010-04-17
Scene Location: Shepherding Village
Time of Day: dusk

        It was an hour or so until sundown, and the camp had a small fire going for a meal. Others were sitting around, quietly talking and resting after a hard days' work, the stars starting to wink into view overhead.

Penniavas himself was just returning to camp with enough firewood for the night, kneeling to set it down. he was muttering under his breath, and finally lifts his head from the chore to see who there he recognised and perhaps converse to/at.

Hraefengar is sitting propped up against a tree, a blanket wrapped around him. His face is still pale, drawn, and for the moment his eyes are half-closed. His wolfhound lies beside him, guarding him carefully.

Nurenhir emerges from a tent, a cloak fluttering close after. "Good evening, Penniavas," he calls cheerfully to the younger Elf. If all passed as expected, he would be by the fire, helping with the meal; however, all is not so well. The steward approaches the sleeping Rohir slowly, holding two earthen mugs filled with a pungent herbal brew. He looks to the wolfhound questioningly.

[Penniavas(#24815)] "Oh, good evening Steward!" returns Penniavas, breaking the silence now that the tirade had been unleashed "That will do us through the night and then some! It is getting a little hard to find firewood that does not need chopping. I may have to bring an axe next time for some deadwood. In a way this will help to keep fires from spreading in the woods, but I worry that we will not have what we need to finish rebuilding. We can bring more in if we have to right though? How is he doing though? His dog at least is free of the burrs, but that creature harmed him in the wounded leg, didnt it?"

The wolfhound lifts her head, and she watches the elf for a long moment before turning to lick Hraefengar's cheek. The Rohir's eyes flutter, then open, and he groans. The blanket slips down, and beneath it the man's clothes are sweat-dampened. He blinks dazedly, then offers a soft, bleary smile.

For a moment Nurenhir pauses and listens, swaying and unstable; then he smiles at the younger elf. "Yes, yes," he says patiently. "The Men and Dwarves will see to finding more material if the builders prescribe it, do not fear."

The steward kneels close to the man, holding out one of the beakers. "How are you feeling?" the Elf murmurs. "Our healers demand that we both drink of this brew. It will assuredly speed the healing, although I must apologize for the taste."

Penniavas reaches a hand out, suddenly cut off, worried for the other Elf. But as he recovered, the youth relaxed, moving to crouch beside both as he smiled at the dog, and then at the man. The brew though, got a frown. Then back once more "How long will we remain to help them? You list both men and Dwarves, but not we elves in the list of who will find more wood if its' needed." he cuts off prematurely this time, his line of questions.

"I do not mind the taste," answers Hraefengar. "I... I take herbs... medicine... regularly, and they are... not the most pleasant to taste. But..." He reaches to take the mug, then gulps down the contents without comment, nor much of a face.

His limbs twitch slightly, and he sighs. The dog whuffs quietly, nuzzling him. "I am feeling... sore and unwell... so about as expected. You, my lord?" A glance to the younger elf, and he nods.

Smiling gently, Nurenhir raises a hand to reassure the concern of Penniavas. "Nimble though we may be, we are scouts and guards for this village. It was wise that you called for help, Penniavas, and help only we shall remain. The Men will live here themselves, and the halls of Dwarves are considered masterpieces -- let us defer to them."

Taking a deep breath, the steward downs his own dose, reaching for the Rohir's empty mug. "Twice a day," he says wearily, sitting upon the ground. "But if there are no more scimitars to aggravate the wound, you ought to heal well."

Penniavas relaxes, smiling at Nurenhir at the reassurances. He remained crouched there, nodding back to the human "Not that I have seen for scimitars. Only our own blades. And we do not use such clumsy weapons. Did either of you wish some of the dinner? I will go fetch some if you want. It is stew, but good stew with some rewatered vegetables and other such things. " he offers.

"It is not scimitars or boar tusks that worry me," murmurs the Rohir. "But that I shall re-open the wound myself. I am low on my own hebs and have not been able to find much..." He shakes his head slightly. "I should maybe like some of the broth. I can manage that. Thank you."

"And pork," adds Nurenhir ruefully. "But I have eaten of it already; thank you."

The Elf reaches for his satchel, peering with disappointment at his own collection of plants. "Which herbs do you seek? Since you are not well, I will find them for you. Or, perhaps, our own healers have some."

[Penniavas(#24815)] "I will fetch some. I'll be right back ." promises Penniavas, turning to dart off, and then back once more, with a large bowl, and some bread he had found, a waterbag swinging from his arm. He looks to Nurenhir "In the morning, we can get more. I think it is too late now."

"I do not... I do not know the names of the herbs, most of them, save in my own tongue," answers the scop. "Thank you," he says to Penniavas. "Herbs that prevent... spasms, fits... I do not know if... if the Fair Folk know of such things. Rosemary... larch... no... linden, linden... valerian..." He sighs, then reaches out to pat the dog, she seems more relaxed than before.

"Herbs to calm the soul," Nurenhir states, nodding. "I shall ask the healers first, for they know more. And then I shall search outside -- though it is not very safe, still."

The steward raises the empty mugs, then rises, wrapping his cloak close. "Then I shall return soon, Penniavas, Master Hraefengar. Good day." Slowly, he makes his way across the camp.

Penniavas bows to the Steward, taching him depart. Then he looks to Hraefengar, tilting his head thoughtfully "If you could describe them or draw them, I can show them to the healers and they can see if they have any." he suggests finally.

"In my saddlebags there is a blue pouch. The pouch has an owl broidered on it. In the pouch should be a few small... small muslin bags tied with red thread. Little ones, you can dip in tea. Take you one to your healers... they might be able to know from that." Hraefengar sighs softly, closing his eyes again. "It shall be a long, long ride home."

Penniavas nods and stands "I will do so. Do you need anything else before I go?" he offers

"No... no, thank you. I shall rest a little longer, then get myself back to the tent. Or wait for the healers to take me there." Hraefengar tugs the blanket up again.

Penniavas nods "Call me if you wish me to help. I am Penniavas." he bows deeply.

(Log ends there?)


Date added: 2010-04-18 11:05:04    Hits: 91
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