Delivery of the wounded

                              Breelands Weather                              
The twilight summer air is very hot and dry around you. A light drizzle trickles from the sky.

Infirmary
The Infirmary is an area of clean floorboards and white walls. Not a speck of dust or dirt can be found here. Three beds are available for patient's use, each one with a small trunk at its foot for the patient's personal items and a place where a medical chart can be hung. Between the three beds, two curtains have been hung on poles creating a sense of privacy for each invalid, yet allowing the healer's an easy view in. A cabinet with bottles, pouches and scrolls can be seen toward the back of the room. A small chair rests beside it. A set of wooden shelves holds a wash basin, towels and extra blankets. The single window in the infirmary looks out over the front rose garden.
Contents:
Rhifaroth
Obvious exits:
Curtain to Main Room


[Frarin] There is a low flicker of candlelight about the infirmary this evening, for the Healing House has two charges in its care. Outside, a dull drizzle falls from the hot August night and creates a low hum on the infirmary roof, but otherwise all is quiet. The two charges look to be in a grievous state indeed. Each is clad in a white robe and tucked gently into a white bed, both of which are separated by white curtains. But white is not the only colour that permeates the spotless room, for at the foot of each bed is a medical chart filled with scribbles in an ominous red ink, and the once white bandages that wrap around each patient are now dark.

These two are dwarves, Frarin and Thari, delivered to the infirmary not that very morn. Frarin lies in the bed closest to the curtain leading to the main room and looks to be in a worse way than the other. Thick bandages wrap about his chest and bulge out the linen robe, and his left arm and shoulder are likewise swathed in fresh bandages, though at the shoulder they are stained red. His left leg, however, lies outside of the warmth of blanket piled atop the dwarf. It too is bandaged, especially around the hip, and swung up into a sling of sort that hangs above the bed, offset by weights.

For now the broken silver merchant slumbers, but it is a fitful rest. Between him and Thari flutters a young healer, whose expert hands check constantly the bandages and bathes their brows with a cool wet cloth.

Lucille arrives from the main room.
From Healing House - Main Room, Lucille has left.
Lucille has arrived.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    The man who brought in the two dwarves would not remain. Injured himself, he had things upon his mind to tend to first before himself. Rhifaroth had at once gone back out into the rain and disappeared, leaving the two badly injured Dwarves in the capable hands of the Healing House. But his horse and the Dwarven pony were left standing in the rain outside for now, so where ever that man went, it was not far.

    And indeed, after a few hours, he has finally returned. Dripping wet, hood up against the rain, and having refused to give up his blade upon re-entry into the Healing House, Rhifaroth limps back in. He comes to stand just outside of the infirmery's curtain and is now speaking in a low voice with one of the House's healers.

    The man's quiver is yet once again empty, his long bow now unstrung, and he has blood stains upon his upper left arm and right leg above the knee.

[Lucille(#1660)] Victoria's voice is quiet as she uses her fingers to open the curtain that seperates the space. She watches the younger healer tend the two wounded dwarves with quiet efficiency, and when she is satisfied that nothing is needed at that moment she returns her gaze to the peculiar man in front of her. "How did you say this happened, sir?" Despite his appearance, and the known distrust of Breelanders, she did not seem uneasy or on guard.

Watching him with quiet eyes, she makes quick note of the scars that are apparent, the tattoos that color his skin, but never has her gaze lingered long. She maintains eye contact throughout their quiet conversation, hands folded together in front of her. "Surely this did not happen too far from Bree.. What could have done this? The dwarves are known for their prowess in battle."

[Frarin] Frarin stirs in his sleep. His head rolls to the side and his right hand clasps and unclasps. A string of muttered words part his lips, but they are barely audible and so garbled by sleep and delirium that they are near indiscernible, if indeed even spoken in the common tongue at all. They catch the attention of the young healer, who comes swiftly to his side.

"There there," she says softly, dabbing the dwarf's brow with her cloth. The candlelight reflects the sweat all across Frarin's face. He stirs again, this time the uninjured right arm lifting slightly before falling to the bed again.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Rhifaroth does not, as usual, like to be questioned. The man evades the woman's eyes except for occational eye contact at points when he speaks with her, but mostly his gaze slips around the Infirmary, the quiet industry here, the two wounded dwarves, those few coming and going in the outter hall, and so forth. But he stands quietly, relaxed if very tired, hiw own voice pitched quite low so not to disturb those who rest.

    "Some trouble in the north." But by whom or what, the man does not say. "More than a day's ride from Bree." Pressing his own lips into a thin line and looking once more in Frarin's direction, the man adds, "But it's over now. They can rest, burry their dead, and go home."

    There is no cane now. With one hand on the doorway, the man brushes past Victoria and begins to enter into the infirmary proper. He is filthy with mud and blood, dripping wet and leaving dirty, wet boot tracks upon their clean floor.

Gunburrk arrives from the main room.
From Healing House - Main Room, Gunburrk has left.
Gunburrk has arrived.

[Lucille(#1660)] "Barely a two days ride is not far enough, if they are capable of this.." Victoria's fingers return to the curtain upon hearing the quiet struggle of one of the wounded. She peeks her head in and whispers a direction to the younger healer. "He's in pain.. Support his head, try to get him to drink from the cup there." she points to a small cup filled with a dark liquid... streams of steam rise from it, and though the younger healer looks a little worried, she tries as told

Victoria returns her gaze to the man before her. "I do not know what has happened.. but I have the distinct feeling we are in debt to these warriors, and to you, sir." Her brow furrows as she openly looks him over, as if in assessment. "Are you injured? I have noticed a slight limp upon your entry here."

[Frarin] Again Frarin stirs in his restless sleep, this time more violently than before, for his left arm moves and a muffled cry escapses his lips. The young healer at his side presses the cool cloth against his brow once more and, at Victoria's bidding, takes the cup of steaming liquid from the table at Frarin's sider. She sets the cloth aside and reaches a gentle hand under the dwarf's head, lifting it slightly.

His restlessness fades with the young woman's touch, but the muttering continues until the cup is placed against his lips. Then the steam drifts up and touches Frarin's nose. The dwarf's mouth opens without much urging and, as the healer gently tips a small quanitity of the liquid into his mouth, thin slits appear between Frarin's eyelids.

[Gunburrk(#28007)] 
     The sound of heavy boots echoing through the healing house mix into the atmosphere of the pouring rain and moans from the injured taking temporary sanctuary in the healing house. The sound of the boots and now the rattle of armor can be heard nearing the infirmary the clopping beats of the boots give off the sound of a man or a dwarf staggering. Suddenly the image of a red bearded dwarf clad in blood stained drenched black cloak appears in the door way, in his arms is a lifeless body, similar to his own.
     "I-I don't, I don't think he made it.." , says the red bearded warrior with great hesitation in his voice. "I found him.. Being dragged off by one of the beasts.." The matted blood in his beard gives him more of an eerie appearance, "I took the beasts head but I.. I guess I was too late." Suddenly Gunburrk drops to his knees still holding his lifeless companion in his arms as he bellows , "I was too late!"

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Even as he has brushed past and leaves the healer Victoria behind him - lest she follows him into the room - the tall, dripping wet man turns his cowled head to answer her, "Do not be concerned. I said it was over, now." Coming to stand by Frarin's cot, but not so close as to hamper the young healer who works there, Rhifaroth leans on his right leg so as to rest his left a bit. But it is his right leg that is cut above the knee and has blooded his pants. The man makes no comment about this, or his upper left arm wound, but he glances back to the woman, "Nonesense woman. No depts."

    The sound of clattering mail and heavy bootsteps forestall anything more the ragged man might say. His own gaze has slipped from the woman to the new arrivals that stumble through the infirmary's curtain, even wetter and more bloody than Rhifaroth himself.

[Lucille(#1660)] Victoria starts to follow Rhifaroth into the room, but pauses just inside the curtain. She watches, pleased with the young healer, and slightly annoyed with the man standing sentinel by the bed. He is hurt, she can see that clearly, but somehow she knew he would not give answer.

The clanging of the armor brings more than one pair of eyes toward the door. It is sadly obvious that the body being carried no longer held life, and Victoria motions for more of the assistants to come and help the dwarf who had entered. She approaches him as the others reach slowly.. carefully.. for the body that he holds to him. "Let us see to him.. and to you, Master Dwarf." Her voice is soft now, and without the stern tone she had held when speaking with Rhifaroth. A hand comes to the dwarf's shoulder as she watches his eyes.

[Frarin] The diligent young healer keeps Frarin's head steady as she administers the steaming mug of liquid, careful not to spill a drop even as the dwarf coughs and sputters for a moment. When half of the liquid is gone, she sets the cup aside and bathes his wet brow again. As before, his eyes flicker open to slits, then widen slightly.

The gaze there is still dull. There is none of the familiar sharpness or knowing in the eyes now, only an unfocused look that does not truly see. Soon after his head is replaced upon the pillow, however, Frarin's restlessness resumes. A choked word follows a short cough and his closed eyes scrunch tight. "Thari," mutters the silver merchant in his delirium. A frown pulls his sweaty face into a twisted dark expression, and a second word follows the name, though it is harsh and guttural and of no language any save the dwarves would know.

Concern wrinkles the young healer's brow and she again gently places her cloth over Frarin's brow. She glances over her shoulder at the clatter of iron and is surprised to see the sodden, bloodied man so close. More concern mars her smooth young face. "Sir, you are hurt," she says softly, one hand still dealing with Frarin. "Will you not sit at least? I can tend to you in a moment."

[Gunburrk(#28007)] 
      The previous nights battle has indeed taken its toll and made its presence known on the face of the red bearded dwarf. The climax of the battle can still be seen lingering in the weary eyes of Gunburrk as he stares into the face of the master healer.

"Thank you master healer, he was still alive when I slayed the beast that had him in his jaws, but curse my slow feet," he looks down and gazes at his boots, "I couldn't go fast enough." Slowly his head turns toward the direction of the delirious Frarin, and the look of horror fuses with the weariness, "What words did you utter?" Gunburrk quickly brings himself off his knees with great effort, he gently places his fallen comrade on an empty cot next to him. Without haste the warder wanders toward the bedside of Frarin, "Is it true, is it true what he said?" Asks the warder with much panic in his voice looking at the young healer near his bedside, "Tell me, what is the status of master Thari?"

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    "Thari's here, Frarin - rest you." The man murmurs, knowing perfectly well that the silversmith isn't likely to register his words anyway. The man draws a slow breath and frowns, looking at Frarin for a moment after the new arrival's had distracted him before.

    The young healer's words spoken to himself though elicits a stiff shrug, "There are those here who need your tending more than I, lass." Still, he has not slept the past few days and nights. Rhifaroth turns his head to look over the imfirmary - and as yet, most of the cots are empty. He limps a step or two towards one of the nearer cots and then pauses to reach around to draw off his long bow and quiver as though he might at least take the suggestion to sit and rest a bit.

    Hearing the new arrival's low rumbling voice uttering great concern for the healer Thari, the tall cloaked man turns where he stands to glance over at Gunburrk as he removes his bow - but he says nothing.

[Lucille(#1660)] Assistants tend to the body as Victoria follows the others to be near Frarin's bed. There is little else needs doing, and it is obvious those who are awake and aware have much to discuss. Quietly, she answers the red-bearded dwarf. She has never been one to overshadow with niceties when its regarding a patient, so she answers simply.. "Both of your companions are in a great deal of pain, but they are strong, and already show signs of recovery." she motions for the younger healer to follow her.. "Gentlemen, we will be close should we be needed.. but we will give you privacy for your conversation." With this, both Victoria and the young healer leave the room, closing the curtain behind them.

Beyond the curtain, nearer the entrace to the healing house, a new arrival comes. This one does not show signs of battle or injury. In fact, she seems quite healthy. Lucille steps into the room, and muted voices may be heard in conversation. All remain on the other side of the curtain. "Who is among the wounded?" the younger voice asks, her words perhaps carrying a little more than the others.

[Frarin] "What?" says the young healer, momentarily distracted from her attention to Rhifaroth by Gunburrk's frantic words. She throws a confused glance back at Frarin, who is still muttering, though incoherently now. "He's spoken only nonsense since this morning. I can't understand what he says. But," and here she looks to the curtain behind which Thari sleeps, just as Victoria promptly addresses the others in the room. Nodding, the lass follows the older woman out.

Frarin meanwhile has begun to breathe heavily, his breaths coming in great huffs and gasps as his dark dreams trouble his fevered mind. Again the lips part and again slurred, garbled murmurings spill forth. A low humming starts in the back of his throat, as if his unconscious form attempts to form a word. But it dies away soon and the dwarf fades into restless silent once more.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    His long bow and empty quiver removed, Rhifaroth has propped them against a near wall next to the cot he has chosen to sit upon. Awkward with heavy, wet cloak and scabbarded long sword, the man stiffly sits himself. His attention is for a moment on those gathered around Frarin's cot. His left hand starts to rise but stops as the pain in his arm flares. Instead he raises his right arm and slips the cloak's hood off of his head, his own hair wet, soaked through from the rain.

    As the two Healers depart for a few minutes, Rhifaroth closes his eyes. He is very tired but has not laid himself down. Sitting, other voices in the hall outside of the infirmary dully register but nothing sounds alarming.

[Gunburrk(#28007)] 
     Gunburrk sighs heavily and says in his a low tone as his eyes wander toward the resting Thari, "Thank the heavens." His eyes once more wander back to his delirious friend in front of him, "Rest well my friend for it won't be long till we are drinking the finest ale under the mountain.." The red bearded warder sighs once more as he turns from his friend, as he does he removes his black drenched cloak, and places it on an empty chair, revealing his blood stained ring-mail armor. "I think.. I think I need some rest.." He says faintly before grabbing the empty chair with his cloak and placing it in front of the cots near of Frarin and Thari. Slowly he sits down as his eyes begin to drift open, then close, open then close.

[Lucille(#1660)] The conversation beyond the curtain continues for a moment, then it sounds as though the voices move toward the outside. Several minutes pass, and the curtain stirs. Small delicate fingers part the material, letting large eyes peer through. Lucille sees only the dwarves lying in bed, another seated in a chair.. falling asleep. They all look as though they have been witness to a small war, and the girl wonders just how close it had been for them to come here for healing.

As Frarin begins to move again, Lucille steps through the curtain. She goes to his bedside, taking note of the half empty cup nearby, the bowl of coolwater with its rag. She takes up the material, wringing it free of excess before dabbing away the sweat that lines the dwarf's forehead.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Dimly thinking about lying down and sleeping, the man hears what must be the light footsteps of one of the healers returning. Something vaguely nagging at the back of his mind, Rhifaroth opens his eyes and sees someone unexpected - sweet young Lucille, here?

    Rubbing his face with his right hand a moment, the man glances from where Lucille seats herself to check on Frarin, to the other unnamed dwarf who seems to have settled himself into a chair and passed from consciousness. His own voice a little rough, he speaks up to gain the girl's attention, "The healers, lass... they should see to that one there." and makes a gesture towards Gunburrk who is much bloodied but still untended in mail and wet clothes.

Lucille jumps at the unexpected voice, and discovers her own voice lost when she turns eyes upon Rhifaroth. Eyes narrow slightly, and finally she responds. "I'll see it done" Returning attention to the dwarf before her, she smoothes away the hair from his forehead, lifting his beard to wipe the cool cloth against his throat and shoulders. Once satisfied, she returns the cloth to the bowl and turns to the quiet dwarf in the chair.

She did not wish to disturb him. His expression was troubled despite his attempt to find comfort in the chair. Kneeling near, she does not reach for him.. not yet. "Master Dwarf.. " she murmurs, pausing only a moment to glance back Rhifaroth. Her mouth opens, but then closes as she frowns. Lucille pulls her gaze away from the dark cloaked man to look at the dwarf again. "Will you let me tend your wounds? We have a cot for you to rest.. but we will need to remove your armour."

[Gunburrk(#28007)] 
     Gunburrk head continues to nod up and down while his eyes struggle to remain open, but it is no use, the days of hard travel carrying his fallen friend, and the horror of the battle have finally taken its toll on the wounded warrior. The soft voice of one of the healers reaches the ears of red bearded dwarf, the soft voice runs through his body giving him a small burst of energy to do the task of the healer. "Aye" Is the reply from the blood stained dwarf as he struggles to get himself out of the chair. Doing so he wobbles over to an empty cot and closes the curtain. Moments later he calls from beyond the curtain, "I'm ready master healer.." And with those final words Gunburrk finally drifts off to sleep.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Seeing that Lucille will inform the healers to take care of the new arrival, and her speaking to Gunburrk, Rhifaroth loosens the tie on his wet cloak which now that he is seated, is pressed over tightly against his throat. He makes his hands unbuckle his sword belt and prop the cherished blade against the cot's end railing at the head of the bed.

    With one more glance to watch Lucille turning her attentions back to his friend, Frarin, the man eases himself down on the cot to rest, muddy boots and wet clothes an all making the sheets filthy. Rhifaroth couldn't care less. He stiffy rolls over to turn his back on the others, and so not to be laying on his injured arm, and closes his own eyes - just to rest them a little.

[Frarin] Frarin's restlessness again quiets as the cool cloth is applied to his forehead and beneath his beard, as if some instinct at the back of his fevered mind bids him rest and allow Lucille to tend to him. He is still for a time as the girl turns to the bloody Gunburrk, but soon his head is set to rolling again. His eyelids flutter as if the eyes beneath rove through some unknown darkness, behold some unknown evil.

The laboured breathing resumes, no function of physical distress, but mental, an anguish beyond reality preying on the dwarf's sick mind. He grows especially restless after a moment, then suddenly the vacant eyes snap open, beholding the ceiling of the infirmary as if it were the very troll to have struck him down. "To the north!" he rumbles, barely above a murmur, though perhaps a shout in his mind. Then the eyes close again and Frarin's body stills, falling into a sleep deeper than dreams.

[Lucille(#1660)] Upon hearing the dwarf call for the master healer, Victoria makes another appearance with the other young healer. She smiles a relieved thank you to Luci as she goes to Gunburrk's side, and begins to care for the newly arrived. The curtain is drawn, and though it provides little in way of privacy.. it provides enough.

Lucille tries to keep her eyes averted from Rhifaroth, and her thoughts away from saying anything to him. The movement and distress from Frarin captures her attention and she returns to his side. She looks around as if trying to find something... anything.. to help ease the dwarf. Unable to think of anything, she carefully sits on the edge of the cot. Luci takes one of his large rough hands in hers, her other hand reaches up smooth away the hair that has fallen over his forehead once more. An action she has, no doubt, done for Tessa or Dickon. A quiet hum comes from her lips now and again, fading in and out as if she were trying to remember the tune.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Almost he was asleep himself, but Frarin's rumble, though not very loud, disturbs him. Rhifaroth turns his head, then eases over onto this back to look over towards where Frarin lays, fevered. The man frowns, looking at the dwarf, but then watches Lucille's kind hands trying to sooth the silver smith.

    Closing his own eyes for a moment and wanting to sleep, Rhifaroth none the less reopens them and makes himself focus on the girl, "Is he dying, lass?"

[Frarin] The gentle hum of some snatch of a tune drifts over Frarin and his sleep deepens further. Still the eyelids flicker and his head rolls to the side, but his breathing grows long and solemn and he makes no further effort for the moment to move his broken body or open his eyes. What thoughts abound in the fevered mind none can know, but now at least Frarin does not stir, and the incessant muttering has abated. Slowly, uneasily, his restlessness fades. But the fevered dreams provide at least some indication that the dwarf's unconscious is fighting. This deeper sleep, this lack of movement, seems somehow more chilling still.

[Lucille(#1660)] Luci does not answer right away, instead continues with her quiet wordless tune and gentle touch. She presses the backs of her fingers against Frarin's cheek, and though he feels warm he does not feel as hot to the touch as he had. The young girl frowns a little. "He's still fighting.." she murmurs, "I do not think death will find him, but his battle will continue for some time, I fear." She did not simply mean the healing of his wounds, but something deeper. She can see it in the lines around the dwarf's eyes when he called for something in his dreams.

Frarin seems to calm, and Luci stops her gentle touches to his face and forehead. The large hand still rests loosely in hers, and as she turns her attention to Rhifaroth now she rests them against her leg. "You're hurt... again." This a statement, not a question. "And you have not allowed anyone to tend you."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Rhifaroth lays with his head turned, his eyes only half lidded as he watches Lucille with Frarin. He listens to her and then shifts his head back a little to look up at the ceiling above him, "He's a good ... person. But I do not know what happens to the souls of his people when they pass from life. Be they like elves, or fated like men, or something apart entirely." His voice is low, tired, and probably makes no sense whatever to the young woman.

    Then he adds, "I hope that he makes it. Dwarves seem ... incredably tough."

    Having for a moment closed his own eyes once more, there is a silence for a moment before there is any reply to Lucille's question of him. Most likely the stubborn man will give no answer concerning himself, as he usually does not. But then he does, turning his head back to look at the girl and smiling just a little.

    "I am not hurt much. Just tired, lass."

[Lucille(#1660)] "Yer hurt enough" Lucille's voice remains even and flat. She gives Frarin's hand a gentle squeeze, smiling at the roughness of his skin before she rests it against his covered stomach. Just as carefully as she climbed onto the bed, she climbs down. Without another word she approaches the edge of Rhifaroth's bed, hands reaching quickly, but gently, to move the soiled material away from his arm so she can look at the wound there. It was deep enough to require stitching, but did not appear infected. At least, not yet.

Before Rhif can pull away from her, she moves away to wash her hands and gather supplies. "Im gonna wash yer wounds." Luci states simply, and without looking back to him. "If I dont, they will. At least I have tended you before." She returns bedside, setting up what she needs within an arm's reach. She still does not look at him. "Would you unclasp yer cloak so I can reach yer sleeve... please."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Watching Lucille's movements, Rhifaroth doesn't seem to be very inclined to do anything but lay on the cot and rest. He's barely awake but certainly not injured enough to slip into unconsciousness like the bruttally injured Dwarves. He does not flinch this time as she touches his arm, then moves away to wash.

    Absently, he raises his right hand to feel for his cloak tie - there is no clasp at all on this one, just the simple tie which has been cut and mended back into place at some point. But it's already been loosened and takes little effort to free it.

    "I have no desire to be laid up with soured, fouled wounds. I've had them before." But his movement wakes him back up a little and the man makes himself sit up, tugging off the cloak and glancing at his bloodied arm, "Shirt's ruined. Can tear the sleeve."

    Rhifaroth slides his muddy boots back to the floor and sits up fully, looking to make sure that no one has disturbed his bow or blade.

Lucille was ready for him to argue, and she starts to speak in defense.. but stops short when she watches him comply. And not only comply, but give her permission to tear the sleeve. For a moment she does not move, but then she reaches for her own dagger with one hand and his sleeve with the other. Lifting the material, she pierces it as close to the shoulder as she can and cuts it. When most is cut away, she puts the dagger away and uses her hands to tear and pull away the sleeve.

She works silently, the water would be warm and she uses it liberally to wash away the dirt, dried blood, and what appears to be flecks of leaves. She pays no mind to the mess made, knowing it will be tended to later. One hand slides beneath his arm, steadying it as the other uses the material to wipe closer to the wound with gentle dabs.

"Ya wont tell me what happen'.. so I wont ask." her lips are pressed into a thin line as she closely watches the task, pausing only to fetch a clean cloth and wet it. "But it musta been close fer you t'come back.. Didn' think you'd come back."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    The drawing of the dagger involuntarily makes Rhifaroth tense very slightly, but he glances at Lucille's face and makes himself relax, watching her for a just an instant before his gaze drops again to what her hands are doing. Moving his arm about to remove the sleeve makes his face tigthen but he says nothing and otherwise puts up with all it with long practice.

    Turning his attention to look over the Infirmary for a moment, and his gaze following the other two Healers as one of them checks on Frarin and Thari again, the other fetching something and then returning to Gunburrk behind his curtain.

    Lucille's voice draws his attention back, "Not very close... a few days ride." He admits. Rhifaroth's gaze returns to Lucille's face as she works on his arm, "I - appriciate, your not asking too many questions. I'm sure the dwarves will have stories enough."

Lucille nods once, head tilting as she examines the wound. Once satisfied that it is cleaned she lays the material to one side and looks up to him. Her hand is still gently gripping the underside of his arm. "Will you let me stitch it? It didn' go deep 'nuff to hurt muscle, but it does need stitchin.." She gives a brief glance to his leg, but decides against comment. One battle at a time. She's surprized he's sat still THIS long.

The young woman looks up at him, covered in blood, mud, and other unidentifiable muck. A few day's ride.. these dwarves, Rhifaroth, and who knows how many others.. and in what conditions? Lucille's eyes look over his face now. She wanted to say so much, ASK so much.. but she refrains. "Im a healer. Least.. I've been workin here for a couple years, guess you could call me that now." She offers this small bit if knowledge as if it may help his decision on the matter.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    There is no resistance. Resistance when there are wounds, raw and yet unseen to is foolishness - after they have been seen and bandaged, and show no signs of fouling, then he'll be standoffish most likely. Especially around strangers. But not just at the moment, too weary and sore to care about handling just now.

    "Of course, go ahead. Or I can do it." Rhifaroth doesn't seem to care. "Anyone else comes in more badly hurt though, you go see to them, all right?" He looks at her young face, perfectly serious. Then he looks away, glancing over the room once more, "After, I need to rest and go back north." he frowns, then looks at Lucille and firmness, a hint of steel comes into his tone, "Just you and these healers here, don't let those dwarves leave if you can. Not until they are mended. Then they can go home."

Lucille releases his arm, moving only to fetch what she will need to stitch the wound. Included is ointment that had, no doubt, been prepared by Victoria once word of the incoming wounded had come to the healing house. The scent is not sweet, but it helps fight infection. A small bottle of is tucked beneath her arm and carried back with her. This bottle is offered to Rhifaroth, "It'll help you sleep.." she shrugs a shoulder, "Its just ale.. hard ale."

Her fingers touch his arm, carefully applying the ointment on and around the wound. Her voice is barely a whisper when she warns of the 'discomfort' to come before the threaded needle approaches his skin. She sees to the task swiftly, as to try and minimize the pain caused to him. When the stitches are in placed, she looks around for her dagger to cut the thread. A hand pats her belt briefly before her eyes focus on it several paces away. A brief glance up to his eyes before she leans in, teeth pinching the thread between them before subtle movements of her jaw sever the threads near the knot.

Only after her job is done does she respond to his words, her voice clipped and a little angry. "The healers know their duty, Rhi.. sir." Luci recalls his want of her to not acknowledge him in a public setting. "Ya leave that to them." a nod of her head acknowledges his leg. "I want t'clean that too."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    The man accepts the bottle and looks at it suspiciously for a moment, then glances at Lucille. Rhifaroth sets it on the cot next to himself but makes no motion to open or drink from it. "I won't need it to sleep."

    Except for a bit of involuntary tightening of muscles, which he at once tries to keep relaxed, there is no particular reaction to her careful movements to stitch up his arm. The wound is not deep, more than a scratch but only just nicking into muscle tissue. He's a bit under weight just now and much too lean to have fat between his skin and muscle, but it's not a bad wound.

    When she has leaned back and finished with the arm, it is then that Rhifaroth picks up the bottle she had given to him, "Hold on a moment." He makes no comment in reply to her retort, but removes the stopper with his teeth. Taking a brief sniff of the contents, he does not drink of it. Instead, Rhifaroth pours a little of it onto his open leg wound.

    Used to having his wounds treated or not, THAT makes him jerk involuntarily and swear something between tight teeth. But he doesn't pass out. Then he pours a little of it over the stitches on his arm but that doesn't hurt so much. The bottle is then handed back to the girl, "Save the rest for the others, lass."

[Lucille(#1660)] After she watches him wash over the wounds with the drink, the bottle is laid aside and forgotten. She moves toward his leg, tilting it to the side a little to look over the cut near the knee. Lucille straightens and takes a step back. Again, her eyes do not find his as she speaks. "Ya have two choices.." she begins.. "I can either cut away th'pants from the wound to treat it.. or.. you can take 'em off, cover up with a blanket so I can tend it without anythin' in my way." After her schpeel she glances at him, only to look away again.

Before he responds, she busies herself with dumping the old water for new, and gathering clean rags. She asks herself, repeatedly, WHY she answered the door when someone came lookin for help at the healing house. Why? Because she didnt think for a moment he'd be here.... no, that wasnt entirely true, and Luci knew it. She had asked Victoria when she came in who was among the wounded. Luci frowns at herself, and wraps her thoughts around the duty at hand. Anger can come later.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Lucille's question makes Rhifaroth look back at her face, vaguely startled at her bluntness, though if she's really been working as a healer he shouldn't be surprised. She just seems ... so young, to him.

    Rhifaroth looks at the leg and frowns, "We can just cut it aside and I'll resew the cloth later, like I did the other pant leg." Now not meeting her eye in turn, he glances away over the room once more, "I don't have anything else to wear, Lucille."