Saga of Gidon the One Armed

THE GIDON SAGA

Shepherding Village

This is the home of a small, proud, and independent people who live primarily by herding sheep in the open lands south of the Great East Road. Once driven from this region by troll depredations, they have returned and appear to be prospering, perhaps because they can also profit by trade on the Great East Road. There are many sturdy houses and smaller huts clustered on a hill here, safely ensconced behind a deep ditch and wall. The ditch is filled with thorn bushes ... and the gate to the village is by a removable walkway over that ditch. Clearly the possibility of attack, whether from trolls or something worse, has not been ignored.

A long, low, whitewashed building, sprawling along the hillside below the caravanserai, appears to the south. The thatched roof spills down to the tops of its lead-paned windows, thick glass aglow with firelight.

Overhead, stars by the millions fill the sky and here, in the warm summer night, a boy lies in the grass and watches them. His lips move but no words are spoken aloud, and one arm is pointing straight out, moving from one to the next to the next. The Dunlending travelers bustle about their campsite, preparing to leave on the morrow, and Gidon is staying well out of the way.

[Irin(#19030)] 

        The soft sound of boots pounding upon the ground grows nearer, eventually leading into a slightly more muted sound of cloth brushing against grass on the field in which Gidon lies. They belong to a tall, cloaked man clad in dark grey cloth and matching woollen boots. A bit of bright red hair dangles from out of the man's hood signalling at once that he is not one of the Dunlending foreigners. Calm, blue eyes search about the area, and he concentrates for just a moment on the hustle and bustle around the Dunlending campsite, before his eyes trail off in another direction, and eventually find Gidon gazing at the stars not too far off. "They're leavin' already?" The man's voice questions the young boy, assuming that he'd know at least something about those strange foreigners.

Gidon's eyes move from the stars to the strange man, and then to the campsite - reassuringly near. "Aye," he says in a soft burred voice. "T'morrow."

[Irin(#19030)] 

        The man nods once, and glances back towards the campsite. "Where they off to so soon?" Granted, the Dunlendings have been in the village for more than a month, but apparently the strange man had expected them to stay for a while longer.

This has apparently occurred to the boy as well. "Tain't none soon," he objects. "Been here month or more." He sits up, running his fingers through longish dark brown hair. It is nearly black. His dark eyes study the man. "Why'd you want t'know anyhow?" he asks.

[Irin(#19030)] 

        "Well it's not everyday that you get a group of strange travellers staying in the village for reasons other than trade. At least - it didn't seem like trading was their main priority," the man replies to the young Breelander. "I met one of 'em the other day -- he was a dark haired fellow." Pause. "Well, they're all dark haired, but, anyway, he was hoping I could offer them some supplies. I haven't had a chance to speak to him again.." The cloaked man shrugs. "He's a rather short fellow - do you by any chance know who I'm referring to?"

Gidon puzzles through the travelling party, a faint frown moving his straight dark eyebrows together. "Brev?" he hazards at last. "Though his hair ain't so dark, not so dark as mine anyhow. Or there's Carac, he be the head, like."

[Irin(#19030)] 

        "Brev?" Irin repeats the name weakly, as if trying to recall any faces associated with that name. He shakes his head and shrugs once again. "Hm.. not sure. Could be either of 'em. Anyhow, I eas hopin' to get a word with one of them. Either one of those names you mentioned.. er, Brev or Carac, was it?" The man has a bit of an absent-minded nature about him. He then falls silent for a moment, before asking the boy, "You're not from the same place they're from, are you? Originally, I mean?"

"Aye," Gidon says again. His hair falls into his face, and he shakes it free again. "Y'got some provisions then?" His eyes slide up at the man's question, and there is a pause before he answers. "No. I come from round Bree."

[Irin(#19030)] 

        "I got a large sack of flour and some dried berries and such.." Irin replies. "I've got enough of those to last for at least a day or two or to feed at least a few people." He is careful to use rather vague descriptive terms. "I don't 'ave them on me right now, though. Could go back to my room an' get them." He pauses. ".. So, what's a Breelander doin' around these parts?" The redhead seems to be an awfully nosey fellow.

[Hephtur(#1434)]         In the distance, a torch can be seen bobbing up and down. It is a far off illumination, but it slowly draws ever closer to the village. A lone traveler can eventually be seen drawing towards the entrance of the village. 

         He approaches the drawn-up walkway that during the daytime serves as a bridge over the protective ditch that surrounds the village. One of the village sentries calls down to him, and there is a brief conversation that eventually leads to the walkway being lowered. 

         The traveler snuffs his torch and leaves it sticking out of the ground just outside the village. He walks across the walkway and enters the village, taking a moment to survey it. The sentries - initially suspicious of his slightly bizarre appearance - return to their duties.

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

At the edge of the clearing that surrounds the Village, a shadow detatches itself from the trunk of an oak, and moves to slink down the path leading to the Village. This traveler carries no torch to light his way, making his way down the path by the light of the stars alone, along with the ruddy glow of torches coming from where the sentries keep watch. At the edge of that ruddy light the shadowed figure pauses, and speaks quietly with the guards -- who seem very skeptical of too travelers arriving in the middle of the night right after each other.

Eventually the walkway is lowered though, and this newest visitor makes his way into the village -- half hunched over to hide his true height.

Gidon considers, then shrugs. "Sure. I can' say they wants them or nothing, might as well go and see though." He looks suddenly wary at the continual prying questions, but answers - after all, that is why he is here... "Lookin' fer m'da. Y'aint seen him?" The question has been asked so many times that the boy has given up expecting any positive answer. "He's bit taller than me, but his hair be lighter." 

Two people, one a little after the other, come through the gate, and Gidon looks over to watch them, his attention sudden and acute.

[Irin(#19030)] 

        Irin considers the boy's question for a good few seconds while keeping his gaze away from Gidon, and off towards the glow of the fire at the centre of the Dunlending campsite he twists his brows as if he is in thought. Then, finally: "Middle-aged man? Had he gone huntin', by any chance? I think I might've seen someone on m'way back from Archet - but it was a long time ago. A bit over two months ago." He turns his gaze back to Gidon. "Saw him with a horse 'round a small campfire. Didn't speak t' him, though. Does that sound like yer Da?"

[Hephtur(#1434)]         The first traveler to enter the village seems as surprised as local sentries to see another visitor arrive. He turns around at the imposingly tall man and narrows his already squinty eyes. He places his hands on his hips and straightens his posture slightly. His movements are predatorial. "A busy night around here, eh?" His expression remains guarded.

Gidon's shoulders slump a little as he recognizes neither of the men, and then his head snaps back to Irin. "Aye..." Hope springs into his voice, and then he shakes his head. "Never had no horse, Da din't."

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

"Indeed," Fornathan offers back deeply to the other traveler, as he drifts slowly closer to the other man. "Most don't dare travel through these woods after dark, or alone for that matter." He offers in a guarded tone of voice, the pair obviously exceptions to the rule. As he approaches Hephtur, he remains hunched over -- again attempting to hide his height. His accent is that of a Bree-lander, but his height and the hilt of a sword at his side mark him as something else.

[Hephtur(#1434)]         "I'm not too frightened of the woods," the southron replies. He glances over at the boy not too far away before looking back at the other lone traveler. "This place seems a little more populated than usual. Caravan coming through? You with 'em?" The bizarre looking man's intense eyes roam over the other traveler's body, with an air of suspicion.

Gidon's attention is taken by the two men at the gate, and he edges a little closer, to try and hear what they are saying. The warm summer night folds around the village, and the stars overhead grow more brilliant as the last remnants of the sunset turn black.

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

"Neither am I," drolls Fornathan slowly, his voice quiet, and face hidden by his cloak. "They're just a little darker then some after all..." His gaze flicks then to the caravan, and Gidon himself. He offers a slight shake of his head then to the Southron. "Apparently, and I'm not with them." The Ranger looks back to Gidon then, and moves a few paces in his direction -- allowing for a little distance between himself and the other strange traveler. "Boy," he calls out evenly. "What caravan is this?"

Gidon scrambles up. It's a little better to address strange men in the night when you're standing, and able to run if need be. "From Dunland," he says, in his quiet drawl. His dark eyes scan the man intently, and after a minute, he asks his eternal question. "Y'aint seen a man? Taller'n me a bit, with lighter hair?"

[Hephtur(#1434)]         The southron grins as the boy declares his origins. He takes a side step toward the other traveler and elbows him gently, turning his head downward and muttering: "Brutal bunch of savages." He chuckles harshly at his own remark before beaconing the boy. "Come here, boy! Let's have a chat!" Another snicker, and a sidewise glance at the fellow traveler that - in the right light - reveals a disturbing profile complexion of this man.

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

"Lot of men that are taller'n you, with lighter hair, boy." The Ranger says in a distracted voice, as his gaze wanders over the Caravan. "They comin' from, or goin' too?" He asks then deeply, before looking back over to the Southron -- noting those disturbing features. As he motions for the boy to come over, the Dunadan moves to step casually between the pair. "Now, whose this man you're lookin' for? Got a better description, and where you from?"

Gidon flushes. "Not so much taller," he clarifies, before startled and suddenly wary eyes turn towards the second, shorter man. As both men call him nearer, he takes a step back instead, looking around a little nervously. "Looks like me, some," he says cautiously. "Be a hunting man, come from Bree, maybe... from a year ago on?"

[Hephtur(#1434)]        The southron claps his hands together and lets out another chuckle, louder this time. "Aha!" He proclaims, taking a few steps toward the boy and placing his hands on his hips again. "I think I killed a man just like that, not long ago." His tone is patronizing. "Friend of yours, then?"

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

"How'd you come to be so far from home, boy?" Fornathan asks the Breelander, remaining hunched over slightly as he talks -- his hood and cloak hiding much of his face and body. The response from the Southron garners a look from the Ranger. "You can be so sure with such a 'good' description of the man then?" He asks, straightening slightly. "Because, he's described nearly half of Archet there..."

Gidon looks suddenly sick. "You..." he says, his voice wavering, and then he leaps at Hephtur, trying, apparently, to tear the man to bits with his bare hands mindless of relative size, strength and experience.

[Hephtur(#1434)]         The boy is apparently unaware at the almost inhuman quickness of the man he attacks. In one swift motion he grabs the shaft of his brutal axe that is strapped to his back and cuts it towards the boy. All the while, a terrible grin sits on his face.

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

"Boy..." The Ranger starts to shout a warning, but the words die on his lips. As he charges the Southron, Fornathan attempts to grab him, but his gloved hands find only air. As that axe is drawn, the Dunadan moves with long strides towards Hephtur, and draws his longsword -- which comes free from it's scabbard with a clear metal ring. He lunges and attempts to ward off that terrible stroke.

[Combat(#13388)] Hephtur wields Battle Axe.

The axe wasn't even seen until it is slicing through the air with uncanny speed. And even then, Gidon doesn't seem to notice - for he doesn't even try to avoid it. But Fornathan's charge is noticed, and the boy tries, mid-air, to avoid the ranger. And thus, he is off-balance, falling, as the axe cuts into him. There is a thin cry of shock, for pain hasn't yet hit, and the boy crumples to the ground, his arm welling blood. It hasn't quite been cut off... but the blade sunk to the bone, and surely has broken it just above his elbow.

[Hephtur(#1434)]         The axe-wielding traveler sidesteps the assault of the Ranger. After his axe slices into the boy's arm, he positions himself so that the boy stands between the two men - and then he raises his axe, and brings it down to the boy's neck. The movements of this man are precise and almost haunting to witness.

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

"Run, boy..." The Ranger barks at the fallen Gidon -- wincing at the force of the blow the boy just recieved. Still, the Breelander is unlikely to run, and Fornathan moves to try to ward off the blow for the young man. His blade flashes out once more, streaking towards the head of Hephtur's axe -- attempting to stop Gidon from loosing his head to the Southron.

Fornathan attacks Hephtur with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Gidon's arm dangles uselessly, blood that is nearly black in the firelit air soaking his shirt and pooling on the ground. His eyes wide with terror, tears still sliding down his pale cheeks, the boy tries to scramble out from under the down-rushing axe and Fornathan's sword knocks it aside just enough that he is successful.

[Hephtur(#1434)]         While most of this village sleeps or passes the noise from this brawl off as more late night antics from the visiting Dunlendings, the two sentries posted at the entrance of the village take notice and scramble to watch the events unfold. They exchange occasional glances, unsure of how to respond to the violence. 

         Meanwhile, the Ranger's blade stymies the axeman's assault by piercing into his upper left arm as it holds his battle axe aloft. He grunts in pain and stumbles backward, eyes narrowing at the man who has seemingly saved the boy's life. He raises his axe defensively and bends his knees, preparing for an attack. "Leave this village, wanderer, or I'll make you scream, and scream..." he pauses, and grins wickedly before allowing the final words to slither out of his mouth: "...and scream."

[Fornathan(#20482)] 

The Ranger draws himself up to his full height in front of Hephtur here, a gloved hand deftly unclasping his cloak, and letting it fall to the ground. His height, dark-hair, and rough but fair features mark him as one of the Dunadan -- just are surely as his bearing and strength his blood lends to his words. He swings a circular oaken shield from his back, while he continues to hold his sword up defensively.

"I am sure the Guards will side with me. I would leave now if I were you. I am sure we'll meet in the Wilds if you'd like to finish this there."

[Irin(#19030)] 

        At long last, the strange cloaked man that had been talking with Gidon not too long ago comes lurking back towards the field where he now finds two men in an armed quarrel, and Gidon trying to dodge the blows from the shorter of the two men. The young man's eyes linger upon the more imposing of the two men, perhaps being taken aback by the wanderer's height. Without wasting a second more, however, the redheaded man reaches for the small dagger hanging from the side of his belt, and withdraws it in a swift maneuvre as he dashes toward Hephtur with the blade held above his head. As soon as he comes within an arm's reach of the man (that is, if he is able to), Irin swings his weapon arm, aiming for the man's face. 

Gidon takes a few running steps, then stumbles and falls. He crawls farther from the fighting, his face grown white as his blood runs out and down his arm, staining the grass. And a minute later, he has fainted, laying face down.

One of the guardsmen, still apparently wondering over whether to stop the two men fighting, sees the Bree lad collapse, and decides this is something easy to deal with. He takes the few steps separating them, and scoops the boy into his arms, clamping one hand around the bleeding wound.

[Hephtur(#1434)]        The axeman avoids this new assault with relative ease, but rather than counterattack he steps back and again stands defensively. His sickly green eyes dart between the Ranger, the newly arrived assailant and the village sentry who drags the badly bleeding boy away. "This isn't your business, maggot!" He barks. "Let me and this pathetic, fallen wanderer from the old times settle our score without your meddling." The axeman settles his eyes on the Ranger, perhaps a little surprised at his immense height.

**********************************************************************

Gathering House - Common Room

This is not quite a pub, and not an inn, but a simple gathering place for the village. The rough plaster walls waver with firelight, and the dark memories of pipe smoke smudged up to the exposed beams. Hay is scattered over the stone floor, and pokes through, above, but it is warm, and dry, except in heavy rain. A great, open hearth stands in the center of the longhouse, filling it with the earthy scents of smouldering peat and bracken. Serviceable tables and benches are scattered throughout, set with candles and lanterns.

The room is mostly empty - it's midmorning, and most of the villagers are about other business than talking or drinking. But a fire has been built on the hearth though it is summertime and on the floor near it, a boy lies. He is still wearing the same clothes as last night his shirt especially is stiff and dark with dried blood. A rough cloth has been wrapped tightly around his upper arm, and he lies as if he is dead, his face dead white beneath the nearly-black hair.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Though her reputation has never resembled anything close to charitable, the hard young woman known as Muirgheal has come to the Gathering House this morning to share a few pies she's made with the villagers for their lunches later on today. Bearing two in each hand, she walks carefully so as not to drop them, her sword tapping rythmically against her thigh as she walks. Her near-black eyes blink in surprise at the sight of the boy on the floor. "Whose child is this?" Her voice demands.

[Thulion(#28108)] 

The door to this gathering place is nudged open just enough to allow passage of a tall man, his shadow momentarily but starkly outlined by a bright stream of morning light which spills across the hay-strewn floor. The man himself is akin to a shadow clothed in dark brown-greys and swathed in a cloak, despite the warmth of the season. His head lifts quickly at the demand of the pie-bearing woman, "Child?" comes a voice perhaps surprisingly soft for one so coarse of appearance. He squints into the room, eyes narrowed as they adjust to the light here, or lack therof. Spying the figure by the fire, the Ranger moves across towards him, "Whoever's child he is, he is badly wounded. Are there healers in the villiage?" asks the man, looking up to the blonde.

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

Following Thulion is is Cordelia, though she is dressed for the weather, not swathed in shadowy fabric like the Raner. She enters, blinks as her eyes adjust to the light, then crosses the room toward Muirgheal, glancing down in surprise at the injured boy. "Isn't he from that group of travelers that is here?"

Gidon's eyes open slowly as the sound of voices penetrate his half-sleep. He blinks, dazed by pain. "What...?" His voice is feeble, nearly inaudible, and dazed with pain.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] The tall blonde woman looks toward the man who entered after her, and to Cordelia, her friend. She shrugs and replies with the air of one distracted, "I've seen him somewhere before. I suppose it was here." Then she walks over and kneels down beside the boy. Muirgheal attempts to give him a reassuring smile, if that young woman can be reassuring at all. Her eyes are not unkind. And as the reputation whispered around her is one of malaise at best, it may come as a surprise to some when she lifts her eyes to the Ranger and says, "There are mostly midwives here...but I am a healer." A hand attempts to slip to the boy's forehead, checking for fever and confirming, "He's burning. Whose child is this?"

A toothless old man, sitting in the corner, has watched all this with incurious wrinkled eyes. He might as well not even be there for all the attention most ever pay him. But now he opens his mouth to confirm Cordelia's words. "He come wit' dem 'tranger folk," he says.

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

Cordelia glances to the old man, then nods to confirm his words, turning back to Muirgheal. "He was with that Brev fellow. The one that calls you names. Only this kid...he was looking for his father, and I'm not sure he's one of the travelers. I forget. So what happened?" She glances to the wounded boy, then up to the toothless man and next to the Ranger. "Orcs?"

[Thulion(#28108)] 

Thulion looks up as the second woman speaks, and gives a nod of recognition at least to Cordelia, before turning his attention back to the boy. "I do not know, Miss Wood. I have only just come from the west," answers the Ranger, kneeling beside Gidon. "Easy, lad," he says gently as the Breelander begins to wake. Looking to Muirgheal next, he asks, "What do you need? If he does have family here, I would rather not have to seek them out to inform them of his death. Let us attend to him first, and seek his kin when he is out of danger."

Gidon's eyes find Muirgheal as she kneels beside him, but it doesn't seem like he understands any of her words. Her hand is cool where it touches his forehead, and his eyes start to close again only to open once more as someone else speaks. Then a man looms into his view, and the boy frowns, then sighs soundlessly as whatever thought had come goes away again. Orcs - the words comes out of nowhere, and Gidon whispers, "No.." 

"Don' know," pipes up the old fellow, quite pleased, it seems, to be included in the conversation. "Heard of a fightin' in th'night."

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "Who was fighting?" Muirgheal snaps quickly in the old man's direction, for all that her manners toward Gidon are rather kind and motherly. She strokes cool fingers across his forehead and begins inspecting the most obvious of the wounds. "Someone obviously brought him here they should know what happened." Muirgheal says it as though she rather expects someone to pipe up very soon and start explaining who cut up and bloodied a child. "I need proper bandages, for one...something to cleanse these wounds...the whole of it looks infected already."

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

"I'm certain he is with Brev and the rest of that group," Cordelia says. "Let me see if I can find them, find out what happened. Since I can't be of any use here anyhow." She looks once more to the injured boy, shakes her head, then turns and heads to the door.

[Thulion(#28108)] 

The Ranger nods to the blonde, "I shall go and see what can be found, then." The man stands and glides quickly for the door, pausing only to glance briefly back over his shoulder towards the man. "If you saw or heard rumour of who brought the boy in here, that might help her," He motions towards Cordelia, "Find out who is responsible for him." With that suggestion made, he slips out the door back into the sunlight, undoubtedly to return soon with what healing supplies might be procured in the village.

The door opens abruptly and one of the men who guard the gates of this small village bursts inside. He stops suddenly. "Oh. There you are," he says ungraciously to Muirgheal. "Was comin' t'look for you." He sidesteps Cordelia, and comes over to the fire, giving Thulion a passing glance, that sharpens as he takes in the man's appearance. He swivels to watch the man out the door, saying wryly, "Bit late about it, he was." A little confusion puzzles its way into his face. "But din't he even get cut up? Thought Varley said..." He shakes his head and looks back to Muirgheal.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "What? Who? This isn't exactly a social occasion, if it had escaped your notice!" Muirgheal says indignantly to the guard, gesturing angrily with her free hand toward the boy she kneels beside. She looks toward the door that Thulion just exited from. "That Ranger...why did you think he was hurt?" She doesn't have much she can do, yet, until he returns with supplies. Muirgheal does motion a young girl to bring her a bucket of water and a cloth, so she can put something cool and damp on the boy's forehead to put him at ease. Since she heard folk say that he was with the Dunland group, she murmurs to him in her native tongue, " Everything's going to be alright now."

Gidon's breathing is faster than it should be, and he shifts uneasily on his makeshift bed, then cries out as his arm is jostled. The cool water seems to comfort him, and he subsides. Her soft words bring no recognition to his face, though his eyes move to her lips as she speaks.

"Huh?" the guard says. "Saw him m'self," he says then, indignantly. "Las' night. He an' some other feller was fighting, an' this boy musta been too. Dunno quite. He never had no weapons on him, an' anybody can see he ain't big 'nough t'be taking on growed men." He scratches his head. "I made sure as Varley said he got cut up some hisself, though..."

[Thulion(#28108)] 

It is not terribly long, though perhaps hard to tell as the minutes crawl by, that the Ranger slips back into the common room here. Tucked under one arm is a bundle of rolled up cloths, in the other hand a small flagon and a little pouch. He steps aside the Guard, as though he were little more than a large boulder someone had plunked in the way here. Coming to kneel again beside the boy, he lays out several clean bandages and a couple of cloths for cleansing and a folded up blanket that looks worn, but servicable and clean. "One of the midwives was kind enough to lend these," he says to the woman. "She had a few herbs as well that she gave, and I have a few of my own. This tonic," he holds up the flagon, "Should help cleanse the infected wounds." He lifts his head, looks around between the old man and the Guard, "Fighting, in the village here?" One dark brow arches, having only caught the tail end of the conversation. "This boy was fighting a grown man, and none intervened?" The Ranger hardly sounds surprised, though the thin line of his lips shows dissapointment at the least.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "Fighting? That man, the one who just left?" Muirgheal looks to the guard for confirmation, but she doesn't even wait for an answer before remarking to Gidon in her native language again, " Never trust a ranger as far as you can spit. I know I'm married to one, but...he's the exception." Of course, the boy likely doesn't understand all this, but Muirgheal talks away while still assessing his wounds with her dark eyes. "We can clean this up easy," she reassures him, now in Westron. "But the mending may take a little while." Clearly she must have misunderstood the guard though, for when the Ranger returns, he seems to know as little of the fighting as she does. "Someone knows the story," Muirgheal remarks to Thulion, frowning as she adds, "And they're not telling, evidently."

Dunael is a language Gidon doesn't know at all. But the words have a familiar sound he has spent the last few months around men who speak such words, and they comfort him a little. He lies still, fearful of moving and making the burning gnawing pain in his arm grow worse. The effort is telling on him though, and his thin face looks still thinner, haggard and there are great shadows under his eyes. 

"Y'ought t'know," the guard retorts. "You was there afore we was. Was it you as cut th'boy, or th'other one?"

"Mind," he adds, hurriedly. "I ain't saying but it were accidental-like ever'one knows how boys is, getting underfoot all th'time."

[Thulion(#28108)] 

"I have not laid a hand on this boy," the Ranger answers quietly, yet there is earnesty in his voice and eyes as he regards the Guard. "Not since winter have I been in this village, until the morn when I came, and this young woman was here, and the boy already laid by the fire even as he is now." He pauses, draws a quiet breath, and glances down at the maimed Breelander. "How many men were fighting, have you heard?" Thulion looks up again towards the Guard. "And one of them looked not unlike myself?"

The guardsman frowns, his heavy brown eyebrows almost meeting in the center. "Aye.." he says doubtfully, and peers more closely still at the ranger. "Like enough I made sure t'was you..." Then his face clears and he laughs loudly, slapping one leg. "Fair on me! Wondered how it was you healed up so quick." He settles back on his heels. "Two, there was. 'You' and another man as had an axe." 

Gidon winces at the noise, moving his head restlessly, and biting back a groan. He is trying to be brave, but the constant wearing agony and the burning fever sap his strength of will, and tears begin to slide soundlessly down the sides of his face to soak the rough pillow.

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

 Cordelia returns at this point, though neither Brev nor Carac are with her. "How is he?" she asks, approaching. "And what happened? Do we know?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "I have a habit of cutting the tongues out of the faces of people whose voices I take exception to...Mind that yours doesn't become one of them." Muirgheal tells the guard when he suggests that she might have been one to hurt the boy. "Just ask...oh, wait, you couldn't ask them, could you, because they can't speak?" Muirgheal smiles a wolfish smile from ear to ear, her blackish eyes lit. Oddly enough, just as quickly, her expression becomes sweet again as she says, "Cordelia! What did you find out?" And then she comforts the boy, too, putting a cool cloth on his head and asking the dark-haired woman, "Can you get him some brandy? For while I tend his wound?"

[Thulion(#28108)] 

A frown creases the Ranger's brow, and he looks back down at the boy, "Easy now," he says gently to Gidon. "This young woman will tend your wounds, and we shall see if somewhere can be found for you to rest quietly. Be brave now, there's a good lad." Whether or not the words themselves are distinguished by the suffering boy, the tone at least is meant to be soothing. Thulion looks up again as Cordelia returns. "Not well," he answers her with a sigh. His gaze shifts to the Guard. "No, it was not I who fought last night. Would that I did have that kind of healing power, for this boy has dire need of it." He says gravely, a stern undertone coming to his voice as he continues. "He needs now, among other things, quiet in which to rest. Perhaps the recounting of this fight aught wait until after he has been tended, or be taken elsewhere entirely?"

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

"Nothing at all, Muir," Cordelia answers that woman. "Brev is out hunting or some such, and I couldn't get any of the others to answer." She looks to the Ranger. "So it wasn't orcs but some sort of attack?" she asks, then winces as he suggests not bringing up the very subject she just brought up.

The guardsman looks over at Cordelia. "Were a couple men fighting last night, an' the boy there, we saw 'im on th'ground bleeding when we got there." He chuckles again, shaking his head at his own mistake. "One of 'em was like enough this feller I thought twas him!" But Muirgheal's accusation brings his head around, gape-mouthed with astonishment and a tinge of wary respect. "I weren't saying you," he protests. "This feller here, I thought twas him." And as Thulion speaks once more, he nods hastily, looking down at Gidon and shaking his head, saying, "Poor lad." He's not a bad man, it seems just somewhat coarse.

"...dead..." Gidon whispers, desolately, and closes his eyes, giving himself over to silent weeping. The tears come steadily, streaming down his face.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal looks up to Thulion. "Ranger, you must know my husband...Seeker. We'd watch over the boy at our home...we could take him there, now, only I'm afraid to move him yet." To the guard, Muirgheal gives what might pass for a quick smile of apology, but no one will hear an apology from her mouth. "Doesn't even look like orc-work much, to me." The young woman shrugs. "Who's dead?" Muirgheal asks quickly, looking to Gidon again. "You're not going to die," she adds, as though assuming that may be what he meant.

[Thulion(#28108)] 

Meeting the healer's gaze as she looks to him, Thulion dips his chin in a slight nod. "I think that would be best, until he is mended and his family can be found. When he is able to be moved, we can fashion a litter upon which to carry him." He pauses, gazing down at the boy for a long moment. "Not orc-work," he says quietly. "The guard says there were two grown men, one he mistook for me, another wielding an axe. As deep and brutal as this wound is, I would say it was the axe that maimed this boy." He releases a sigh, and looks up once more to the guard. "There is one thing I would ask: the other man, the one who was injured, who looked alike to myself... He has left the village?"

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

"Ahh." Cordelia nods to the guardsmen. "Looked like him?" She points a thumb at Thulion, then nods knowingly. "Now who exactly would one of the Rangers be fighting and why? If it's not orcs," she frowns, thinking out loud and staring thougtfully at Thulion. 

"As for family--I already told you--he is here looking for his father. That's what I remember him saying. So his family probably isn't with him."

"Oh, aye," the guard says, trying to speak quietly. "Left out first off, he done." He nods in corroboration of Cordelia's words. "Seen th'boy about. Come with them stranger-folk askin' ever'body if they seen some feller looks like him."

But Gidon doesn't reply, only moving his head weakly back and forth.

The guardsman gets to his feet and tiptoes clumpily out of the room. "Anybody told 'em as he's here? They was leaving t'day, I heard..." The question must be rhetorical, for he adds, "Just go m'self," as he leaves the building.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal shakes her head, frowning to hear more details about the boy's attacker. Carefully, after his wound has been tended, she lifts the now-unconcious boy into her arms with a small amount of effort she must be stronger than she looks. "I'm taking the boy back to my house...come around later, will you?" Muirgheal asks of Cordelia as she takes Giden and heads slowly out the door, much more burdened down now than she was when she came here bearing pies.

[Thulion(#28108)] 

The Ranger offers a patient smile towards Cordelia, "I did hear you, Miss Wood, and I am aware that finding his family will likely take more than knocking on a few doors. But the boy will not be in any shape to continue his search for a good long while, and he certainly aught not go wandering on his own. If there are no kin to him among the travelers, they may not wait for him to recover before moving on." He pauses, a thoughtful frown coming over his features. "As for why the fight broke out... I cannot answer that for certain. Orcs are not the only creatures who attack at will, and if the man with the axe attacked first, for whatever reason, that would be cause enough to defend oneself."

While the boy is being tended, he stays nearby, helping as he may. When Muirgheal is finished, and lifting the lad, he gathers up the soiled and bloody clothing and cloths, packing them into a bundle. He looks up to give the blonde a nod by way of farewell. Rocking back on his heels where he is still knelt by the fire, he breathes a sigh, looking down, his brow furrowed in thought.

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

"I should like to find out more about it. Curiously, your interests and mine seem to be aligned for once, Ranger Leland," Cordelia says, with an ironic smile. "As for his traveling companions..I have spoken with them and I'm not so certain they won't abandon him, as you say. Certainly this will slow their trip--that child can't cross mountain ranges in his condition. He'll have to stay behind."

The Ranger gives a soft, sad sort of chuckle at the irony, indeed. "Aligned, you think?" He gives a dubious little smile, then nods, his expression sobering. "Your friend will likely have him in her care for a while yet." He pauses, then remarks more softly, "It is very kind of her to take him in. I am glad that he shall be looked after. But," A heaved sigh, and he rises to his feet. "The day is wearing on, and already I have stayed longer than intended. If you are staying in the village now, Miss Wood, perhaps we shall see each other again." The Ranger gives his own ironic smile, as if that might be less than good news to the both of them.

[Ceredir(#1394)] 

"Muirgheal will take good care of him. She takes good care of her husband, after all," Cordelia says, looking straight back at the Ranger with unblinking brown eyes full of innocence...somehow. But then she shrugs, taking his next words lightly. "Perhaps we will, Leland. Perhaps we will. Good day to you." Cordelia smiles now, then turns and walks across the room.

[Thulion(#28108)] 

Thulion lingers only a few moments longer in the gathering house, until Cordelia has gone. He then makes his own way noiselessly across the straw-strewn stone, slipping back out the door and into the sunlit morning, leaving the old man, now silent once again, to his ruminations.

**********************************************************************

[Colby(#23332)] Colby Wintertree heard some confusing things, the facts a bit difficult to put together. One thing he's certain on is that some boy is hurt and no one felt qualified enough to deal with the injury.

The Breelander was led in and he makes his way to the patient, a heavy leather pack carried in one hand, a mug of hot water in the other.

Gidon is lying on a bed. His arm is bandaged and immobilized and strapped down so that he cannot move it. The boy himself looks to be about 13 or 14 yrs of age his nearly-black hair is damp with sweat and clings to his pale face. He is sleeping, it seems, but restlessly, turning his head and breathing heavily. There is a bucket of cool water by the bed, and a wet cloth that was on his forehead moments before has slipped down to a pile by his ear.

Colby approaches slowly, setting the mug down on the nearest surface and moving to stand over the bed. He watches the boy for a few long moments, carefully studying him with a somber expression on his face. Then the man reaches for the fallen rag and reaches to dip it into the bucket. He lifts it free of the water, wringing out most of the excess before he gently presses it against Gidon's face again.

While he holds the cloth in place, Colby sets the pack down on the floor next to the bucket and reaches to begin loosening the straps holding the boy's arm down.

Even in his sleep, Gidon groans as his arm is touched. But the cooling rag seems to comfort him, and he stops moving his head so restlessly. As Colby continues to unbind the arm, the boy's eyes blink partly open and he looks without recognition at the man who bends over him.

Colby applies just enough pressure to the cloth to keep it held in place, but not enough that the boy might feel trapped or too much discomfort from the interferance.

When he sees Gidon's eyes flutter open, the man speaks in a softly pitched voice. "Just relax, lad. My name is Colby. I'm a healer and I'm going to get you fixed up, okay?" Even as he speaks, he continues loosening up the bindings, freeing the boy's arm and glancing at the blood-stained banadages. "Do you think you can drink something?"

Gidon's eyes are huge, darkly shadowed with pain and fogged with sleep and fever. And there is something else in them as well. Despair, perhaps. "Yes..." he says listlessly. His voice is a thread, and he winces, shutting his eyes again as the man continues to work with his arm. "Hurts."

[Colby(#23332)] "I would be worried if it didn't hurt, lad." Colby responds in the same, soft, gentle voice. He has a way of speaking that doesn't jar on the nerves.

The healer reaches down to dip the cloth into the bucket again, then applies it to Gidon's brow once more but doesn't hold it now that the boy is awake. "I'm going to make a drink for you, it should help with the pain a bit, and your fever." He explains as he begins searching through his pack of supplies, pulling out various small glass jars with different dried herbs and ground powders in them.

Once he finds what he was looking for, Colby sprinkles some of the medicine into the mug of hot water and watches it slowly mix into the liquid. He moves back to hold it to Gidon's lips and help him drink it.

Gidon doesn't even try to lift his head, though he opens his mouth obediently. Some of the liquid dribbles down his chin, but some of it gets swallowed. The boy coughs, twisting his face into a grimace at the taste. The cough jars his body, and he groans again.

[Colby(#23332)] "Drink a bit more, lad." Colby urges, reaching his free hand behind the boy's head to help him lift it and swallow more easily. "I haven't gotten much of any story on what happened, but I did hear something about you gettting the wrong side of an axe. Can you tell me about that?" The healer asks, though his attention is more on what he's doing than the conversation.

"Tastes nasty," Gidon whispers, but he drinks a little more before shutting his mouth and refusing the concoction. At the healer's question, his expression turns desolate and he shuts his eyes again. Slow tears begin to slide down the sides of his face.

Colby sets the mug aside and begins delicately untying the bandages. He glances at Gidon's face when he gets no answer, frowning. "No? Well, maybe I'll just ask around then." He says quietly, not pressing the issue. "What's your name?" He has to lift the arm a bit to unwind the bandages, but he's making an effort to be as careful as possible.

"Gidon," whispers the boy. "Leaf - Leafthicket. Ahhh!" It is an indrawn breath of agony. The damp cloth on his forehead is nearly dry again - his skin is very hot.

Colby stops as Gidon reacts so sharply, frowning and watching the boy again carefully. He waits until the boy has a chance to catch his breath, then reaches for a pillow and slips it under Gidon's arm, elevating the injured area. "Give it a few minutes, Gidon, the medicine will help. Try not to move too much." He reaches for the cloth and again wets it from the bucket, applying it to the youth's brow once more.

Gidon dips his head in what might be assent. After a while, he opens his eyes again, they are fever bright and brilliant with tears. "What.." he rolls his head to look at his arm, and closes his eyes for a minute before looking back to Colby. "Are... you going to cut it off?"

[Colby(#23332)] The healer carefully peels away the remaining bandaging, pulling a small pair of scissors from his pack to cut through the bindings. He wrinkles his nose for a fleeting moment when he smells the taint of the infection and gazes at the deep wound for a long time, evaluating it. 

"What? Your arm?" Colby tilts his head faintly to one side, then his brown eyes move to Gidon's and he speaks in the same passive calm. "No, I don't think so. I'm going to clean the area really well with some medicine, then sew it. Is that okay?" Already he's digging more supplies from his bag -- a skin of some liquid, needle and thread, some clean bandages, a small sharp-looking knife.

There is silence while the lad tries to follow all those words. Finally, he says, mumbling a little, "Seen... feller get's arm caught inna trap once. Had t'cut it off."

[Colby(#23332)] "Lucky for you, your arm isn't in a trap, right?" Colby responds with a hint of a smile. When he drops his gaze to the deep, infected wound though, his eyes are anything but smiling. The healer picks up the skin, "This is going to sting, lad. Brace yourself." He pulls the stopper from the container, then reaches his free hand to rest on Gidon's shoulder to hold him if neccessary and slowly pours a trickle of alcohol over the wound.

Sting is an understatement. Gidon jerks, and screams. But hopefully the treatment will do the trick, and curb the infection.

Colby presses down on Gidon's shoulder, preventing him from flailing too much and jostling the already injured arm. "I'm sorry, Gidon. It will pass in a few moments. You'll have to be tough, lad." He says quietly, his words sympathetic. "Just close your eyes, the worst is almost over. Try to hold as still as you can." The man continues speaking in a soothing tone, reaching for the knife so that he can cut away the tainted, dead flesh where the infection is the worst. "What did you say your family name was, Gidon?"

Once he is done with the blade-work, he reaches for the cloth from the youth's brow and dunks it into the bucket again, but this time wrings it out over the open wound, rinsing it clean again.

"Leaf..." Gidon starts to say, and then cries out, tries instinctively to jerk his arm away from the blade and shrieks once more before he faints. This makes it much easier for the healer to finish his work.

Colby frowns as Gidon passes out, concern crossing his face. He takes a moment to make sure the youth is breathing evenly, then goes about his business of cleaning and sewing up the wound. A poultice is applied to fight the infection, and the injury is bandaged with clean cloths. Then he splints the arm and positions it elevated on the pillow again, and goes to find a chair so that he can take up vigil in reducing the feature by routinely applying a fresh damp cloth to Gidon's fevered flesh.

The boy lays limp and white, his mouth slack and two dots of fever-red burning on his cheeks. Eventually he slips from the faint into sleep again.

**********************************************************************

It is mid-day, and most of the family living here have been kept hushed up or outside or somehow elsewhere so that Gidon can have quiet to rest in. He has been sleeping almost continuously since his arm was seen to the day before waking only to drink a little before going back to sleep. And sometime during the night, quite suddenly, the fever which had gone higher and higher, broke. 

The boy who lays in bed looks thin, white and exhausted and fretful. The constant pain in his arm wears lines about his eyes and mouth, and it looks like his teeth are permanently gritted. Once while he slept, Brev had come to see him but the man has gone away again.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "Awake at last! And without a fever!" Muirgheal declares as she sweeps into the room and takes in the boy's pale, drawn appearence. "Your eyes are brighter. That's good," she says to him. Her husband is hunting, Uannve out with all three children, leaving just Muirgheal and the boy in the house for a rare moment. "Are you hungry at all? Anyone that thin must be hungry," Muirgheal says, the blonde being rather kind and motherly this morning, even looking all domestic-like in a little blue house dress.

Gidon doesn't smile, but his eyes follow Muirgheal as she comes in. He shakes his head a little he isn't hungry. His dark hair is matted to his head with dried sweat, and his splinted arm lies propped up a little. He is very careful not to move it nor, for that matter, to move himself much.

Colby knocks at the door, the healer stopping by to check on the young patient that's been so feverish for the last couple of days. He has his pack with him, the worn leather faded from the sun and being overstuffed with supplies for many years.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal frowns faintly. "You'll have to eat soon, regardless, to give you strength. Tell me what you like, and I'll do my best to make-" She pauses, hurrying to answer the door and admit the healer. "Glad to see you back, sir," Muirgheal smiles and steps aside to let him into the little dwelling.

Gidon shrugs his one shoulder - sort of. It's more a motion drawing his ear towards that shoulder than any real movement. "Don' care," he says quietly. His voice is a soft burr mostly a Bree accent with a little hint of something else. His eyes move towards the door as Colby comes in, but he doesn't seem to care if the man is there or not.

Colby is wearing a brimmed hat to keep the sun off of his face, a loose-fitting cream shirt that hangs over brown breeches, and has boots that look equally as worn as his pack. All of his garments show patched wear and tear. The man reaches to pull off his hat, bowing his head to Muirgheal. "Good day, ma'am. I thought I might check on the lad." He says in a calm, mellow voice, and his dark gaze travels to Gidon.

"You look better." He states after an appraising glance. "Have you eaten anything?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "We were just getting there," Muirgheal chimes in, grinning. "It cost me a few pretties, but I got a couple of peaches...suppose you could try to keep down a piece of peach pie?" the young blonde asks the boy. "Or...you're the healer," she says, looking back to Colby. "Sir. So would some stew be more fitting?" Muirgheal's dark eyes drift back to Gidon, wondering if his sullen demeanor has more to it than just fever and injury.

Gidon shakes his head minutely in answer to Colby's question. "Not hungry," he says, his voice barely audible. His gaze flickers to Muirgheal, and though he plainly doesn't care, he says, "Yes'm," with weary politeness.

Colby watches Gidon for another thoughtful moment, then looks to the woman again with a faint smile and a shrug. "Pie sounds good to me." The man then moves across the room to the boy's bedside, setting the hat down and lowering his pack onto the floor. "Mind if I look at the wound?" He asks of the youth.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "Don't call me ma'm," Muirgheal tells the boy, frowning. "I'm only a girl, still. No need." She flashes a bit of a grin as she disappears into the kitchen for a few moments. When she returns, she's got a small stack of plates and the pie, which she sets on a table to begin cutting into it. The first piece, of course, is offered to the boy, and the next to the healer. "Mind if I look over your shoulder?" Muirgheal asks of Colby. "I've an interest in learning more of your craft. I get stabbed every so often, see- dangers of living out here." She grins again.

Gidon nods faintly, as if, really, he could say no and the healer would go away? And to Muirgheal, he says, "No'm... " and then catches himself. "No... " With his good hand, he takes the pie, but just holds it.

Colby gives Muirgheal a curious look when she protests the use of "ma'am" but only mutters softly beneath his breath after she's gone to the kitchen about marriage and children. With Gidon's consent, the healer drags a chair over and sits down next to the bed. He begins untying the bandages with a delicateness that seems second-nature to the man. "Don't mind at all, m.. miss." The last is said flatly as he wrinkles his nose.

"Gidon, does your arm have any numbness? In your hand or fingers?" As he asks this, Colby first applies the back of his hand to the boy's brow, then reaches to hold onto Gidon's hand on his injured arm. "Squeeze as hard as you can with that hand, lad."

Numbness. The boy's flat uncaring gaze shows a sign of emotion - what an idiot healer, he seems to be thinking. "Hurts," he says. "All th'time." His hand is taken, and he grits his teeth, and doesn't move his fingers, repeating, "It hurts." The pie sits, forgotten, in his other hand.

[Irin(#19030)] 

        A sudden and deliberate rapping noise is heard pounding on the door of the woman's house. If one had been paying attention to the goings on outside the windows, they might have noticed a tall figured cloaked in grey who appears to be walking very slowly and with a somewhat noticeably scowl upon his face. Stray locks of bright red hair fall from beneath his hood.

[Colby(#23332)] "You mentioned that. It's supposed to hurt." Colby responds, ever patient despite the glum invalid before him. "I can give you some medicine, but you should probably eat something first. You'll be up and moving more quickly with some food in your belly." The man says in a mild tone, then in a firmer manner, "Squeeze your hand around mine, try as hard as you can."

[Colby(#23332)] The loud knocking at the door is met with a glance from the healer. He waits to see if Muirgheal is still about to greet it, but when she doesn't return he says, "Enter."

Gidon curls his fingers, obediently, but refuses to squeeze. He does look at the pie, as if surprised he has it, and awkwardly, one-handedly, fumbles it off the plate and takes a bite. The knocking brings his face around and the pie is forgotten again.

The faint rays of sunlight pierce the Yfelwydan woods, and trolls take refuge.

[Colby(#23332)] "Try again, harder." Colby repeats, not relinquishing his hold on the boy's hand yet. "As if you are trying to crush my fingers." With his free hand, he gently prods around Gidon's wrist and then his elbow, checking for any other damage or signs of trouble outside of the axe wound.

[Irin(#19030)] 

        The nob of the entrance door gives off a soft creak as the unlocked door is swung inward, revealing the identity of the unexpected visitor. He steps forward, further into the main room before slipping off his hood to reveal a young, somewhat acne-ridden face. His blue eyes land first upon the unfamiliar Colby, before his eyes wander down to the boy whose arm he is inspecting Gidon. "I'd been told by the guards that I'd probably find you here," he says, directing these words to the boy. "Glad to see you're recovering," he adds, with a very slight nod of his head.

Gidon squeezes a little, this time, not hard - but all his fingers appear to be working. And his wrist and elbow are fine. He blinks a little in the brighter light of the open door, and as he takes in who is standing there, memories flicker through his eyes, and he takes a light hollow breath as if the very act of breathing is suddenly almost too much to bear.

Colby nods in approval, then looks to the door again curiously. He watches Irin, then turns his attention back to Gidon, noting the youth's reaction. "Friend of yours?" He asks quietly, returning to unwrapping the bandages from the injured arm. He's trying to be as careful as possible with the broken limb, but it's impossible not to move the arm at all.

[Irin(#19030)] 

        "Hope his arm's not too badly injured?" Irin questions the older man, Colby, his gaze flicking back to him. The redhead, too, appears to be having a difficult time breathing, but whatever wounds he may have are concealed under the cloth of his cloak although his right shoulder appears to be a bit asymmetrical when compared to his left.

"Saw him... th'other day," Gidon says, wincing at the unwrapping. He gasps once, sharply, but that is all. "Asked... bout flour."

[Irin(#19030)] 

        "Don't hurt yourself, there," Irin comments in an offhanded tone, as he watches Gidon struggle to speak. "But what'd 'e say?" Irin questions without hesitance. "I tried askin' aroun' for that Brev fellow - but apparently he's been out huntin' a lot. Didn't get a chance to ask about Carac, though."

Colby gets all of the bandaging off and balls it up, tossing it to the floor to toss out later. He studies the stitched line of broken flesh, very lightly tapping a few swollen areas with his brows drawn together in careful study. "I would assess that it's badly injured, but healing quite well for the wound it took." He answers Irin after a moment.

"Gidon, I'm going to put a different salve on the stitching, it should take down the swelling and it won't hurt as much, but you have to be careful not to jostle your arm. It's broken and once this cut has healed a bit more we'll have put a more proper splint in place." The healer explains and pulls out different supplies from his pack, preparing the ointment.

"Who?" Gidon asks, his voice thin as the healer touches the cut. Jaw clenched, he nods in understanding of Colby's orders. Still, he has not eaten the rest of his pie. It crumbles in his fingers.

[Irin(#19030)] 

        Irin blinks perplexedly at Gidon's one-worded question. Had he not made it clear whom he was talking about? "I mean - what did Brev say?" Watching the boy's pie crumble helplessly in his grasp, Irin shakes his head and decides not to question the boy further. "Nevermind. You can tell me later - when you're more fully recovered. I'll be heading back out, then. Won't bother you anymore," Irin says to the young boy in a curt tone, and with a single nod, he turns on his heels and heads back out through the door. The soft creaking sound of the door rings once again as Irin pulls the door shut without another word to the two.

Colby again flicks a glance over towards the door, but the healer doesn't stop Irin, doesn't really speak to him at all. He finishes with the salve and wraps a fresh bandage around the lad's arm. "Is the pie any good?" The man asks while he works.

Gidon blinks, and looks down, only now appearing to realize he is still holding it. He takes another bite, and nods, another, and forgets again that it is there. The bandaging presses painfully on his arm, and he is occupied with not making any noise.

Colby ties the cloth snugly, but not tightly, then settles back in the chair. "How does that feel? Better? Worse? There isn't any numbness in your fingers, right?" He reaches for the pack and pulls it up into his lap, tucking the salve container away amidst all the other healing odds and ends that he carries.

"S'alright," Gidon says. "Ain't numb." His eyes stray to the door where Irin has left, and wince away study Colby incuriously for a minute, drop to the pie and stare at it. Oh. Pie. Slowly, he lifts it and takes another bite.

[Colby(#23332)] "Is something wrong, lad? You're awfully quiet." Colby comments gently after a few more silent moments. He watches the boy with dark, concerned eyes. He's done rifling through his bag and is holding a small dried herb, slowly twisting it in his fingers.

Gidon blinks, and looks back up at the healer for a second, then his eyes drop. The pie squashes to crumbs and he is weeping soundlessly, motionless, tears slide down his face, and he shuts his eyes, turning his face away as much as he can.

Colby is certainly didn't expect the boy to start crying. He sets the herb sprig aside and shifts to move closer. "Gidon... What's the matter, lad?" He asks in concern, reaching to take the pie remains before they get crushed into the blankets.

His fingers are uncurled, the pie rescued, and still the boy cries. After a while, he whispers, "My da..." and despite that there is hardly any tone at all, his voice is desolate.

[Colby(#23332)] "Your father?.. What about him?" Colby asks in a soft voice, barely above a whisper now. There's an honest compassion that the healer possesses, and once he deposits the pie remains onto the plate and moves it aside, he reaches to rest his hand on the youth's good shoulder. "You can trust me, lad."

"He...." There is a long pause, as if Gidon doesn't want to speak the words. His face remains turned away from the healer, and at last, in a broken whisper he says, "... said he ki-killed him."

[Colby(#23332)] "He? Who said that?" The healer asks, his tone growing more serious. "The boy that was just here?" Colby asks, confused but paying close attention now.

Gidon shakes his head. "Th'man.... with th'axe," he replies. "I.." A breath. "I asked, did they see m'da ever, an' ... an' .... " but he can't say it again, and only cries, a bottomless misery on his thin white face.

Colby watches the boy, a grave expression on his face. He stands to move around to Gidon's uninjured side, sitting on the edge of the bed so that he offer the youth a shoulder to cry upon. "Who is the man with the axe? Does he live here in this village?"

"Don' know. Never seen him b'fore." The boy wipes his face with his uninjured hand, dragging his forearm across his eyes, but the tears keep coming. The months of uncertainty, of coping alone the rollercoaster of hope of this search the terribleness of his wound - he can't stop crying.

Colby reaches to gently wrap his arm around Gidon's, not pressing him with any further questions. Obviously the man has no idea where this story even begins, but stitching wounds isn't the only thing a healer does. "I'm sorry, lad."

Gidon resists for a minute, then relaxes into Colby's arm, and lets himself cry. Not like he can stop, after all. When he is done, he will drift back to sleep, no doubt.

Colby sits in silent support, but his mind is running with a great many questions. Figuring out who the man with the axe was will need to be answered first, and finding out if this boy has any other family to care for him is probably something work checking into as well. When Gidon has drifted to sleep again, the healer adjusts the pillows to make the boy more comfortable, then departs for some fresh air and to make a few quiet inquiries around the village.

**********************************************************************

The sun is shining warmly this mid-morning, and Muirgheal has gotten her husband to move Gidon, bed and all, out into the warmth and the air. The boy lies in the half-shade of a tree, well-wrapped against taking fever again, where he can watch the goings on of the townsfolk if he wishes. He doesn't seem to wish he is staring up into the leaves unblinkingly.

Colby approaches the house, his russet curls swept back into a short ponytail save for a few that have escaped to hang around his smooth summer-tanned face. The healer has been making a habit of frequently stopping by to check in on the boy. He's been helping out around the village, but the mysterious quiet youth has been his primary interest. "How are you feeling today, Gidon? You should be able to be up and moving soon. We'll get you a sling to keep your arm stable."

Gidon moves his head to look at Colby. "M'all right," he says, his voice apathetic. The prospect of getting up doesn't seem to excite him much either for all the notice he gives the healer's words. The leaves move gently in the breeze, creating shadows and light patterns on the ground and over the boy himself.

[Colby(#23332)] The healer helps himself to a seat next to the boy, following the young man's gaze up to the leaves overhead. "You miss him?" Colby asks, his words quiet and unobtrusive.

Gidon's face goes suddenly bleak. He turns his head away, unable to look at the man. "He been gone so long now," he says. "Only... thought he'd come back, see?"

[Colby(#23332)] "I think I understand that. What about the rest of your family? Your mother? Any brother's or sisters?" Colby asks, laying back as he folds his hands together behind his head.

Gidon shrugs his good shoulder. He can do it now without causing pain in the other arm. "She die when I was little. Ain't got no one else." This is easier to say, a tale of the past told so often that the edges have worn away not a present sharp agony.

[Colby(#23332)] "Yeah? So you're friends with the lady and her family that you've been staying with? I haven't been out here to this village too many times, but they seem good folks." Colby observes with the same quiet contemplation.

The boy shakes his head. "Don' know 'em," he says. "Not much. Think they was in Archet once, mebbe, only I never see'd 'em. Not t'talk to." All of this is said in the same dull tone.

Colby lifts up his head and looks over at Gidon with some curiosity, "You're from Archet? How did you find your way all the way here?" The healer asks, concerned.

Gidon shakes his head again. "Not Archet. Live on th'marshes, by th'edge of th'woods." He takes a breath and lets it out. "Them," he says, and nods a little with his head. "He come, askin' 'bout who knew th'trails t'here. I never been, but.... I - I been told." There is a catch, a break in his voice, but he steadies it and goes on. "Hired me t'show 'em th'way. Tell 'bout water, th'like."

Colby makes a soft 'ah' in understanding and lays back again. He grows quiet, gazing up at the tree and letting the silence settle around them. Maybe the healer intends to take a nap? Maybe he's waiting to see what Gidon might say.

But the boy, for a long time, seems like he will say nothing at all. He stares blankly up at the sky where it flutters like little blue kites caught in the green leaves, and tries his best not to think at all.

[Colby(#23332)] "I'm from Bree." Colby finally comments, breaking the quiet with the short statement. "I don't know what to tell you, lad. Just let me know if you need anything, okay? Your da wouldn't want you to waste away to nothing. He spent too much time teaching you all that about trails and the marsh."

"But what will I do?" Gidon asks, almost in a whisper, his voice despairing. "When... when Da was gone, las' year, I kep' m'self, huntin' an' th'like. I can' do that no more.."

[Colby(#23332)] "What would you like to do?" Colby asks, letting his eyes drift close though the healer is still listening. "What do you see yourself doing a year from now?"

Gidon is silent again. The breeze ruffles the leaves. Finally, in a barely audible voice, the boy says, "I be dead."

[Colby(#23332)] "Dead? That's not terribly ambitious." Colby says with a light chuckle, his eyes still closed. "I don't think your da would like that very much. Do you know anything about herbs?"

"Can' feed m'self. Go home, an' they puts me in th'town, an' never get out." The quiet bleak voice goes on apparently, Gidon equates 'in town' with 'death sentence'. "Can' do nothin'." Softer still the admission. "Don' want to..."

[Colby(#23332)] "You could help me out, if you were interested. I don't know the trails very well and I'm going to have to head back to Bree at some point. Unless you want to stay out here, lad." Colby makes the offer, but words it so casually that it seems little more than a passing thought. Maybe it is.

The boy falls quiet, perhaps he has gone to sleep even. But then his voice, "Don' know..." And then silence again, and the sun rises higher, the leaves playing lazily in the slight breeze.

[Colby(#23332)] "True. It's a nice little village." Colby says, pushing to sit up finally. "Best go see to that horse that's been ailing." He stands, stretching and looking down at the youth. "Maybe you could help the lady take care of those kids of hers, or something."

This does snap Gidon out of his apathy for a second. He looks horrified. "Rest of m'life?" he blurts out, trying to sit up, and inadvertently pushing with his wounded arm. He turns pale and bites his lip, falling back against the pillows, and turns his head away.

[Colby(#23332)] "It's your choice, Gidon. No one is going to make it for you. Think about what you -want- to do, and figure out how to do it. Or at least find something close enough that will make you happy. If you're not happy, there's little point." Colby says, shrugging again. "You can probably try getting out of bed, if you want to."

But the boy has shut his eyes. Maybe he's not even listening - though he surely can't have fallen asleep that quickly, and there is no escape from the healer's voice. Still, Gidon makes no response. A while after the man has gone, his eyes open again, and he goes back to staring unseeingly at the treebranches overhead.

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Gidon has spent most of the past week and a half sleeping, and full of drugs for the pain. (Whatever drugs they have in this day and place...) But Muirgheal has been chivvying him some now to get up, and so it is that, with Rhifaroth's help, the boy has staggered outside and is half-lying under a tree leaning against the trunk. His arm is tightly bandaged and splinted, and a sling of sorts keeps it from moving too much. 

The warm summer are is stirred slightly by a breeze, and sunlight dapples the leaves. Gidon is watching the dancing shadows in a dazed sort of fashion, not quite focused on anything.

[Brev(#30997)] That warm breeze stirs the dark curls of the man who approaches Gidon now. Brev is clean-shaven - whether as some perverse reaction to Muirgheal's taunts or for some other reason, who knows? - and that only serves to throw the frown on his features into sharper relief. As he approaches he drops to one knee to look the boy up and down, the frown on his features only deepening at the sight of him. "Gidon?" His sing-song Common is surprisingly gentle for once. "Can you hear me?"

There is a pause, then the boy's head moves so that he focuses rather blearily on the man beside him. "Brev?" he asks, his voice thin. He moves a little, winces and subsides. "Sunny," he tells the man, groggily.

[Brev(#30997)] "Aye, Brev." Dark curls sway as the man nods. At the other comment he squints upward. "Too bright, eh? Lets see if we can move you back into the shade - it /was/ just the arm that was hurt, wasn't it?" He shifts round to the youngster's good side, but stops short of any pulling or lifting yet.

Gidon isn't tracking the most speedily, and there is a discernable pause before he answers again. "Aye.... m'arm." Some expression - hopelessness, despair - flickers in his face. But he lifts his good arm to Brev's, shifting his legs to get leverage against the ground.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev gets his shoulder under Gidon's good arm and heaves - slight as he is, the lad is hardly a great burden. "There you go." He pauses, eyeing the lad speculatively, then at last says lightly, "You scared a few folk there. Kiern, you don't do things by halves. Going to tell me what happened? I've heard fragments, but ..."

Gidon scrambles, with Brev's considerable help, back further into the shade, to lean against another tree. He lets his head rest against the trunk, his face white and his eyes shut. They flicker open to look at Brev as the man speaks, then shut again. "He said..." he starts, and squeezes his eyes shut tighter, "said he kilt m'da..."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev tenses - clearly that information is new to him. "Who said? The-" he pauses, dredges his memory and comes up with a word used by Irin, "the Southron? The fellow who incapacitated three men and just walked away? Kiern!" A black scowl comes across his face, and something else ... the muscle starts jumping in his cheek.

"Dunno," Gidon says, his eyes still shut. He lifts his good hand and rubs his face, trying to hide the tears that he can't keep back from the man. "Had n'axe."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev, squatting beside the tree, watches Gidon scrub at his face and swiftly looks away. A moment's pause, then he reaches out his own hand to grasp the boy's shoulder briefly, not looking round. "Do-" He hesitates, swallowing hard. "Do you want to avenge him? If so, we can find a way. I'll not take him on in a fight, but-" he shrugs, "there's other means ..." He lets the words trail off suggestively. He is not silent quite yet, though instead he mutters under his breath, "Why him? Why now, when- Damn, damn, damn."

Vengeance hasn't occurred to the boy, and his eyes open, startled. "I ..." he says hesitantly, and then, though he has managed to stop crying, his voice comes out full of longing. "I don' know - I just - I just want my Da."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev's hand returns to Gidon's shoulder. "I know." The words are flat. "Can't do much about that for you. Kiern, I can't even say if the fellow who attacked you spoke truth or lie? But you don't have to stand alone. You think on it- what you want. I'm not going anywhere." He looks steadily into the distance as he speaks, and heaves a small, quiet sigh.

Gidon nods, falling asleep again, the comfort of the man's hand warm on his shoulder. But one thing filters through into his groggy mind. "..lied?" he whispers, "You think maybe..." There is a desperate hope in his eyes, but he can't stay awake. And his head sags back, his muscles relaxing under the influence of Muirgheal's syrups and potions.

Thari pages: It's going to be a very nasty scar webbed together with scar tissue, or else raised with scar tissue if you want him to have a lumpy keloid scar.

Thari pages: I know that there are muscles on the side of the arm where he was hit, but they were not ones required for me to study. I did look at my anatomy book thinking of you this week, and he was lucky. The inside of the arm is where most of the major nerves and blood vessels are.

Thari pages: He's going to have random numbness, tingling, soreness for a while, maybe years. He will likely be stiffer and have a difficult time lifting his arm straight out to the side and probably rotating it toward the back.

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7-18

[Brev(#30997)] The slanting rays of the setting sun peer through a mass of tattered cloud, bathing rooftops and wet cobbles alike in a reddish glow. The rain that had fallen for most of the day seems to have cleared, and the summer evening is fine.

Through the haze walks a single-figure, new-approached through the gates. Brev has been absent for several days now clearly he has been hunting, for slung across his shoulder is the limp body of a hare. Quite how far he's had to travel to find /that/ particular species of game, who can say?

His steps lead him somewhat reluctantly toward Muirgheal's house.

Gidon has improved rapidly from the infection and fever and though his arm is still immobilized and he is still being dosed with syrups for the pain, they are less. And he has begun to get a little restless. When the rain finally stops, he escapes the crowded confines of Muirgheal's house with its three small and noisy children. And when Brev comes, he is sitting on the ground beside the small house, half-tucked into a corner by a bush where, while not hidden, at least he might be less instantly noticeable. At least less instantly noticeable by the children who seem to see him as a repository of stories.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev's dragging steps come to a sudden halt at the sight of Gidon, thankfully before he trips over the lad. "Kiern! You /trying/ to break a leg as well as an arm?" he queries, shaking his head, but then his lips twist into a sudden grin. "That is - good to see you out and about. How are you feeling?" He peers down at the lad intently, as though trying to gauge his lucidity.

Gidon tips his head back, and a faint smile moves his lips, though it doesn't touch his eyes. "M'all right," he says. His words slur a little as if his tongue is too big for his mouth, but his eyes seem clear enough. "Hidin'."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev sighs softly at Gidon's response. One dark brow lifts at the final word. "Hiding from who? If it was me you're out of luck. Or was it that half-Forgoil madwoman? Don't blame you." He drops the dead hare unceremoniously down beside Gidon. "When she comes out to find you, give her this, will you? Saves me having to rack my brains for some new insults." He gives a half-hearted smirk.

The tiny smile grows a little. "Not you. Them kids," he explains. "Keep buggin' me." His eyes follow the hare down to the ground and his smile vanishes like mist in the sun. Mechanically, he says, "Aye... I will." He shifts a little so he doesn't have to look at the animal, and lifts his eyes to Brev again. "You - ain't you s'posed t'be gone?"

[Brev(#30997)] Brev answers that with a shrug. "Am I? Sorry to disappoint - you don't get rid of me that easily." The smirk grows."Kiern, man, were you expecting me to leave you all alone, half out of your head with pain, in a village full of strangers?" Silence, then, for a while, before he states flatly, "Carac is gone. I figure he found what we were looking for."

Gidon is silent, his eyes dropping to the ground again. "Y'don' hardly know me," he says softly. Quieter still, "Thankee." A pause while the boy stares at wet grass, then he looks up once more, and his smile is back. "Them rocks you wanted? Oh, people. Y'wanted people, right?" But a small frown is growing. "Carac's gone - you... y'should be with him."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev is rather carefully avoiding Gidon's gaze, now. The smile passes unseen as he gazes out eastward, away from the setting sun. There the gnarled woods are already fading to grey-black. "Not just people," he corrects. "Fighters." His features are carefully blank. At the final comment, though, he shrugs, and gives a mirthless smile. "My comings and goings are my own. Carac's used to it by now - or should be. And ... know what it's like to stand alone." His gaze pulls back from the east, and he rubs irritably at his cheek for a moment before his hand drops back to his side.

Gidon nods, though he may not fully understand. "But you said..." He sounds puzzled, but shrugs after a minute, unable to remember quite what it was Brev had said about Carac before. Another pause. He schools his voice carefully, and says, "You'll go back to - t'Bree with me? Then go - home." And manages, mostly, to say it without any emotion.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev's head turns back toward Gidon. "Is that what you want to do? Go back to Bree? You don't want to go on looking, or-" He halts short of putting anything else into words. "If that's what you choose I'll do it." There is regret in his tone, and whether it is at the thought of heading back west or at something quite different, who can say?

He hasn't sat down, and now he shifts from foot to foot. "You look tired, I'll not disturb you further. When you're feeling more like yourself, then's the time to talk."

"Looking...?" Gidon's face goes very still. "He.. you think..." He can't finish. He clearly has forgotten the words Brev had said earlier. "But don't you want t'go back with your folk? That feller did say he saw..." The boy's confused words subside obediently at Brev's decision, and he nods. And the mix of emotions isn't hidden now as he grapples with this new idea, watching but not seeing as Brev walks away.

 

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7-19

It's early in the morning, and Gidon has slid out of Muirgheal's house again. He has gone a little further afield this time, and is sitting on a stone near to the gates of the village, watching the road. His dark thick eyebrows are drawn together in a frown, and his left arm is splinted and bandaged, and tied carefully across his chest. The boy looks to be about 14. 

A man lounges nearby, watching the gate and the woods beyond, and in particular one tall tree. At the top of it, a dark spot can just be seen - larger than a bird's next.

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

The sun hangs on the eastern horizon, spreading it's golden rays across the lands of Middle Earth. Brilliant light filters through the trees, casting shadows upon the soil within the trollshaws, allowing evil places to hide during the daylight hours. Yet, it is from the east, silhouetted by the golden light, that a figure approaches.

Hoof-falls can be heard first, and soon, the horse and it's rider appear through the foliage and trees. Atop the horse is a man clad in leather breeches, and an off-white, sleeveless tunic, revealing his well-muscled chest and arms. As he draws nearer, more definition can be noted. Upon the right side of his head, where his ear should be, now there is naught but a garrish wound. Soft brown eyes peer out upon the village upon a visage framed by dark brown locks some kept bound at the nape of his neck by a leather strap, while more still drifts lazily on either side of his head.

A man of the Dales, yet taller and darker than most is he.

The gateman looks languidly down the road towards the rider, but doesn't bother moving. But Gidon leans forward a little, peering intently at the man, before settling back on his rock perch.

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Along the flank of his steed, a spear rests, easily accessable. At his left hip is carried a shortsword, while at his right an axe hangs from a strap. Upon his back, a sturdy metal shield bounces as the horse takes each stride, and a metal helm rests upon the saddle before him. Behind the man, saddlebags seem sorely lacking in bulge, speaking volumes of the lack of supplies this traveller currently has at his disposal.

Riding passed the gateman, Geirvarr gives a polite nod, but says naught as the other seems content merely to observe. Riding further into the village, the horse is brought up short nearby to Gidon, and the rider dismounts, swinging easily from the saddle. Within moments he is tethering the creature, ensuring water and hay, before turning about and casting his gaze across the area, searching.

As the man comes near, the boy starts to ask him, "Have you seen..." when his eyes land on the axe, and he turns white. Carefully, he edges along the low stone, a little farther away from the man, before continuing his question. "A - a man?"

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Turning to regard the boy, Geirvarr gives the lad a friendly smile. "Well, hello there." he calls, stepping towards Gidon. Noting the lad's unease, the Dale-man spreads his hands apart in the traditional greeting of friendship, revealing his weapons, and hands nowhere near them. "I have seen plenty of men. You will have to be a little more specific, both on details and timeframe." He smiles wider as hands raise and arms cross his breast. "And perhaps while we are asking questions, I might ask if you can direct me to where I might re-supply."

A faint flush darkens Gidon's cheeks. "Taller than me," he says, softly, "With lighter colored hair but eyes is the same. Sometime since last spring?" He relaxes a little as Geirvarr doesn't show any signs of taking up his axe, but remains poised a little, just in case. "S'a hunter," he adds, and then waves his good arm towards a long low building. "They sell stuff in yonder."

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

"I am afraid I cannot help you, my young friend. I've seen few on the road from the Dale-lands." His smile grows, and he nods at the youth's directions. "I am called Geirvarr. And you?" His tone is casual and friendly, and his eyes shine. There is an ease to his step, and little aside from the sheer size of the man seems particularly intimidating.

"Gidon," the lad replies. He looks a bit dejected, a bit resigned. "Was someone as said they maybe seen him east." He takes a deep breath then, and winces. "Where's Dalelands?"

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Chuckling softly, the sound is pleasant as he waves a hand towards the eastern sky. "Beyond the mountains." he states simply, his eyes never leaving the lad. "Quite a journey from here. Months of travel." A shrug is offered the lad. "It is a long and dangerous road one I would not suggest for one so young. But, of this man you speak, I have seen naught. I am sorry I cannot help you."

Gidon swivels to look. "There is a place nearer," he says, a tentative question in his voice. "Called ... Borning? They said there - thought I don't know why he'd gone so far," he adds, almost to himself. And louder again, "Is it that far?"

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Smiling wide, Geirvarr nods at the question. "Beorning." he amends for the youth. "And yes. I travelled through that place on the way here. There is a forest between the lands of the Beornings and those they call the Dale-lands." Sighing softly, he glances about. "Tell me, Gidon.. is there somewhere I might quench my thirst? It has been a long road, and I am anxious for something soothing to cross my palate."

The boy leans forward a little, listening intently - almost as if he commits the man's words to memory. "A forest - is it a large one? And is it..." Geirvarr's question makes him flush again, and he nods, pointing once more to the same long low building. "It's not very good," he informs the man. "At least, that's what Brev said."

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Nodding with a touch of a chuckle at the boy's final words, Geirvarr steps towards the building in question. "Will you join me, Gidon? I can speak much more easily once I have had something to quench my thirst, if you are interested." His footfalls continue, and he glances over his shoulder to see if the youth follows along or not.

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Stepping into the gathering house, Geirvarr's gaze wanders, examining it carefully before he smiles down at the lad. "Not much to tell." he states, moving further within. "It was actually rather uneventful, surprisingly enough. Normally, the mountains are teeming with orcs." Sighing, the man shakes his head sadly.

A man stands behind a counter, and looks up as they enter. His eyes sharpen when he sees the stranger. "Summat t'drink?" he calls out. 

Gidon nods as he listens. "But there weren't," he muses. "Think they'd still be gone, like? How far is it, from here? To Beorning?" He pronounces the word carefully.

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Nodding to the seeming tender, Geirvarr smiles. "An ale, if you would." Producing some coins, he places them upon the counter before returning his attention to Gidon. "Hmm.." he murmers softly. "Probably a couple months, I'd say, under good travel conditions." A shrug is given. "It's not close by any means."

The man smiles, revealing several missing teeth, and takes up the coins, turning to pour a tall wooden mug full of ale, and hand it to Geirvarr. 

Gidon nods again. "Is there - " for a minute, he falters, then goes on. "C'n you hunt, or d'you got t'carry food all th'way?"

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Geirvarr seems about ready to respond, before he pauses, regarding the youth suspiciously. "Why all the questions..?" he asks of the lad. "You're not thinking of heading out that way alone, are you?"

Gidon shakes his head instantly, jerking his chin towards his injured arm. "Me? Couldn't, even if I wanted," he says, slightly bitterly. "Might go with some'un."

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Sighing, the tall man raises his free hand to rub at his forehead. "Look..." he murmers after a moment. "It's not safe out there." His hand drops once more to his side. "I wouldn't advise you go at all. Not alone. Not with another. Perhaps if you could hook up with a caravan of dwarves, but not otherwise."

"But you came," Gidon says. "And you said there weren't no orcs about now. If'n we went t'oncet... An' there ain't any dwarves about."

[Geirvarr(#21372)] 

Shaking his head, Geirvarr looks Gidon square in the eye. "I said there weren't any when /I/ came. Doesn't mean there aren't now. And those mountains are often crawling in them." Another shake of his head, and the Dale-lander adamantly states, "No. You should not go, and I will not go with you. I am heading to Bree. Perhaps on my way back, you can accompany me. But for now, I must say no."

Gidon nods and his eyes drop. He fiddles absently with one of bindings on his sling, then shakes the hair from his head and says, "I should go." He gives Geirvarr a small smile and turns to leave. He seems paler than earlier, and more tired. "Thankee." The door swings shut behind him, leaving the man to his drink.