A Gift for Thari

Ranol knocks at the door to Room 22.

"Who is it?" Thari's voice sounds stern.

Ranol answers in his soft voice. "Your cousin." He's standing, wet from the snow outside and still garbed in his heavy winter cloak.

"I... hmm." There is a pause. Thari certainly sounds less stern from the other side of the door. "It's locked, isn't it?" There is the scraping sound of wood moving, followed by a wooden crash.
Another pause, followed by, "Oops."

Ranol winces, wondering what just got destroyed. He reaches for the doorknob and tries it. Surprisingly, it opens, and the clan-karl steps in. "Not locked." He looks around quickly, surveying the state of the room.

The wooden chair so often beside Thari's bed lies on its back on the floor. "Not locked?" she asks in surprise. "Oh. How are you?" She is sitting up in her bed, pillows stacked beside her and blankets pulled up. The window is open near her and snow is currently falling inward to pile on the windowsill and the edge of her blanket

"No.. not locked." He answers with vague amusement. He pushes the door closed, then moves on to the window to peek out. "You want this open?" Ranol asks as he looks back towards her. The chair is regarded without comment, his blue eyes gazing at it quietly before looking to her.

"Well, no," Thari admits sheepishly ( and one can look quite sheepish when looking practically as bald as a beardling and when covered in scabs and purple bruises). "Funny thing. You might want to know. If you're restless and bound to a bed and think of opening a window, you might want to consider whether you are able to close the window by yourself first."

Ranol can't help but chuckle, and he carefully closes the window and brushes away the collected snow. "Another funny thing, dear cousin of mine.." He states, turning to look at her with those critical blue eyes. "You led me to believe that you are the only remaining healer in our company, yet Eirdis of Mazarbul seems excellent in the arts.."

"Young Eirdis? Really?" Thari asks, with all of the shock of one five years older, brows lifting. "Well, I mean, all of us try to help a bit, but... was she training with Ornur before he was taken?" she asks. "She hasn't said a word to me. You know Mazarbul, though, always speaking up with some bit of reading when you least expect it. Why, was she studying with the Breefolk healers?"

"Apparantly. But, I guess you don't need me to learn anymore, right?" He asks, looking hopeful that he might be off the hook of this committment.

Thari gives Ranol a slightly dubious look. She raises one brow, rearranging the pattern of bruises. "Well..." she sighs. "I suppose so. Depending on what Eirdis knows. Could you have her come speak with me, please?"

"I'll ask the next time I see her, cousin." Ranol steps forward then, and from underneath his cloak he produces a parchment-wrapped parcel, holding it out for her to take. "I'm glad to see you in better spirits today, truly." He smiles.

"What is this?" Thari asks in delight, though surely she can already guess. She sets the package gingerly on a table nearby to avoid her broken lap and begins awkwardly opening it with one hand. "It's not difficult to be in a good mood after having spent so long preparing to die without having ever seen your enemies. I am happy with every dwarf I see and every meal I take and every morning that I awaken in a bed."

Ranol laughs, backing up again to lean against the wall. "They didn't have yellow, so I got orange instead. I thought it would look nice with your hair. The girl said she wouldn't have any more yellow yarn for a couple months, so I didn't put in a custom order." The scarf, as accurately predicted, is very soft and thick. It would be long on a human, and should be more than enough length for Thari to wrap it several times around her neck.

Thari picks it up and does start wrapping it around her neck. "It's an even better color than yellow, don't you think? And once my bruises go no one will look hardly twice at me." This is perhaps a bit of an overstatement, but she looks hopeful and the orange color picks up the reddish hues in her cropped hair nicely.

Ranol nods in agreement. "Aye. I think it looks quite good. I have to be going, though. I have duty very soon. Is there anything you desire?" He begins moving for the door, an easy smile on his face as he looks back.

Thari looks up at him. "Would you--" she hesitates a moment. "Frarin worries so about my safety while I'm healing. Would you mind staying near me if he needs to do something? And tell him so if you don't mind it?" Color rises beneath the bruises, turning some brilliant violet. "Only-- he looks so overworked and fretful lately. I know I don't need someone to stay with me, but it would put his mind at ease."

"I can try. I do not know if he trusts your safety to any but himself, but I will put the offer forth." Ranol laughs then. "Maybe I should have gotten a red scarf, to dull the color of your blushes." He teases, then executes a quick bow and turns to depart.

Thari gives an open-mouthed laugh and pantomimes throwing something at him as he leaves. Still smiling, she leans back on her pillows, still wrapped in a jaunty scarf. "Take care of yoruself!" she calls in farewell toward him.

Ranol laughs as he leaves, pulling the door closed tightly behind him. It's much easier to relax when the patient is making jokes and not wincing with every breath.