CHULANE
In a world where only the tough survived, Chulane would resolve to always be kind, where he could. In a world that took and took and took, he would resolve to give and give and give. He would bear it as long as he could, carrying the weight of the loss, the heartbreak, the many different crises that struck - he would resolve to become stronger, to make it look effortless, that he might ensure those he cared about had all the chances they needed to survive in a world determined to knock them down.
And he didn't want anything in return, except perhaps more time with those he considered friends, more time simply living alongside the ones he cared about. And when his friends needed help, he would step up, he would be that help, he would be whatever they needed him to be. In this moment, the Sword needed him to be a crutch, to be a friend, and he stepped into the role easily, manoeuvring awkwardly but managing well enough as he and Morgan's efforts combined to get the tower of a man to where he would be able to rest properly, to heal and recuperate.
"Get watered down apple cider," he instructed one of the healers who went past after they had Deimos on the bed. He was met with a look of confusion, but ultimately the healer nodded, and disappeared to fulfil the request. Chulane knew that most with this illness were literally dying from thirst, but hated water - a cruel joke of a symptom. He'd managed to convince Loren to drink water by convincing him to drink apple cider instead - it wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.
Then the Chief worked at getting pillows in position, should the man want to properly lay back and rest, or even simply lean back to sit against the headrest. "How're you feeling, Deimos?" He asked directly, hoping to draw out more details on the man's condition. What do you need? he voiced silently, wishing he had more of a guiding hand in this strange time.
And he didn't want anything in return, except perhaps more time with those he considered friends, more time simply living alongside the ones he cared about. And when his friends needed help, he would step up, he would be that help, he would be whatever they needed him to be. In this moment, the Sword needed him to be a crutch, to be a friend, and he stepped into the role easily, manoeuvring awkwardly but managing well enough as he and Morgan's efforts combined to get the tower of a man to where he would be able to rest properly, to heal and recuperate.
"Get watered down apple cider," he instructed one of the healers who went past after they had Deimos on the bed. He was met with a look of confusion, but ultimately the healer nodded, and disappeared to fulfil the request. Chulane knew that most with this illness were literally dying from thirst, but hated water - a cruel joke of a symptom. He'd managed to convince Loren to drink water by convincing him to drink apple cider instead - it wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.
Then the Chief worked at getting pillows in position, should the man want to properly lay back and rest, or even simply lean back to sit against the headrest. "How're you feeling, Deimos?" He asked directly, hoping to draw out more details on the man's condition. What do you need? he voiced silently, wishing he had more of a guiding hand in this strange time.
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
