When questioned, Tomias had merely stated that he'd been born that way. It didn't stop him much. Most of his communication was done mentally, though it was slight even at that. Just because he could communicate didn't mean he wanted to, and Garild rarely heard him. With the glare they were receiving, he was suddenly very happy for that fact.
Tomias led Kirheen to the chair next to Fenir and she plopped down without hesitation, letting her body sink deeply into the cushion. She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head against the back.
He had noticed her exhaustion at breakfast, but now it was written plainly on her face. Everything about her seemed drained, her face lacking color and her body limp as if it had given up on moving any more for the time being. He wished there was something he could do for her, some way for him to comfort her and make the pain go away. She’d suffered enough.
Without a word, Fenir grunted, rising from his seat and taking several large strides to the door.
Tomias spoke. “If you would Garild, can you please go with Fenir and fetch our healer? She might need help carrying supplies.”
Garild nodded. “Of course.” Though he agreed readily, the thought of accompanying Fenir made his stomach twist into knots. The man terrified him. He swallowed nervously and followed Fenir out into the clearing.
Fenir trudged along ahead of him, the tall grass squishing flat beneath his boots. They crossed the clearing quickly, Garild struggling to keep up with his long strides. Along the path to the North, a small wraith wood house rested to the side, smoke curling from the chimney. There were strange smells drifting in the air, mint and butter leaf blossoms and a variety of other scents he could not name.
With a heavy hand, Fenir knocked loudly on the door. There was a crash from within the house, the sound of a heavy kettle hitting the floor. Garild heard someone curse from within and a moment later, a red headed woman opened the door, her freckled face streaked with black powder. She wore a simple dark green robe, a lighter green sash tied around her waist. Her long fiery hair was braided and draped over her shoulder, small leaves and twigs sticking to it where it had brushed against some earlier project.
“What do you want,” she said. “I’m quite busy.”
Garild hesitated, waiting for Fenir to answer for him. When Fenir peeked back over his shoulder in annoyance, Garild blushed, realizing his mistake. He cleared his throat. “Uh, Trista?”
“Yes? Get on with it,” she huffed, wiping the back of her hand across her brow. She left a wide streak of black powder in its wake.
“Tomias sent us. He needs you to bring some supplies for Kirheen.”
“The ashen haired girl I saw to before? What’s wrong with her now,” she questioned.
“She hasn’t been feeling well. She hasn’t slept in days, she won’t eat and she keeps getting headaches. I'm worried.”
“And the herbs I gave her?”
“They haven’t been helping.”
Trista made several clicking noises with her tongue, tugging idly at her bottom lip with a sooty hand. “Give me just a moment, I think—“ A smell drifted from the open door, one that carried the scent of scorched plants. Trista bolted from the door, knocking over a bottle with her braid as she flipped around. It hit the floor and shattered, sending shards scattering in all directions. “Oh no, no, no! You weren’t supposed to burn.”
Fenir sighed, leaning against the side of the house while he waited. Garild stepped closer to the door and peeked inside, half expecting to be hit by something. The room was dimly lit, the window that would have let in natural light long since covered in soot. A wide table took up most the room, and it was covered in a variety of bottles, bowls, vials and herbs. Plants hung from the ceiling, soaked in pots of water and littered the floor wherever he looked. There was a small bed in the far corner of the room, though even that had
Tomias led Kirheen to the chair next to Fenir and she plopped down without hesitation, letting her body sink deeply into the cushion. She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head against the back.
He had noticed her exhaustion at breakfast, but now it was written plainly on her face. Everything about her seemed drained, her face lacking color and her body limp as if it had given up on moving any more for the time being. He wished there was something he could do for her, some way for him to comfort her and make the pain go away. She’d suffered enough.
Without a word, Fenir grunted, rising from his seat and taking several large strides to the door.
Tomias spoke. “If you would Garild, can you please go with Fenir and fetch our healer? She might need help carrying supplies.”
Garild nodded. “Of course.” Though he agreed readily, the thought of accompanying Fenir made his stomach twist into knots. The man terrified him. He swallowed nervously and followed Fenir out into the clearing.
Fenir trudged along ahead of him, the tall grass squishing flat beneath his boots. They crossed the clearing quickly, Garild struggling to keep up with his long strides. Along the path to the North, a small wraith wood house rested to the side, smoke curling from the chimney. There were strange smells drifting in the air, mint and butter leaf blossoms and a variety of other scents he could not name.
With a heavy hand, Fenir knocked loudly on the door. There was a crash from within the house, the sound of a heavy kettle hitting the floor. Garild heard someone curse from within and a moment later, a red headed woman opened the door, her freckled face streaked with black powder. She wore a simple dark green robe, a lighter green sash tied around her waist. Her long fiery hair was braided and draped over her shoulder, small leaves and twigs sticking to it where it had brushed against some earlier project.
“What do you want,” she said. “I’m quite busy.”
Garild hesitated, waiting for Fenir to answer for him. When Fenir peeked back over his shoulder in annoyance, Garild blushed, realizing his mistake. He cleared his throat. “Uh, Trista?”
“Yes? Get on with it,” she huffed, wiping the back of her hand across her brow. She left a wide streak of black powder in its wake.
“Tomias sent us. He needs you to bring some supplies for Kirheen.”
“The ashen haired girl I saw to before? What’s wrong with her now,” she questioned.
“She hasn’t been feeling well. She hasn’t slept in days, she won’t eat and she keeps getting headaches. I'm worried.”
“And the herbs I gave her?”
“They haven’t been helping.”
Trista made several clicking noises with her tongue, tugging idly at her bottom lip with a sooty hand. “Give me just a moment, I think—“ A smell drifted from the open door, one that carried the scent of scorched plants. Trista bolted from the door, knocking over a bottle with her braid as she flipped around. It hit the floor and shattered, sending shards scattering in all directions. “Oh no, no, no! You weren’t supposed to burn.”
Fenir sighed, leaning against the side of the house while he waited. Garild stepped closer to the door and peeked inside, half expecting to be hit by something. The room was dimly lit, the window that would have let in natural light long since covered in soot. A wide table took up most the room, and it was covered in a variety of bottles, bowls, vials and herbs. Plants hung from the ceiling, soaked in pots of water and littered the floor wherever he looked. There was a small bed in the far corner of the room, though even that had
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