"That can be arranged - after you're settled at the Infirmary," he informed her with an understanding chuckle for her desire for pen and paper. He lifted her with surprising ease - surprising to him, that was. He knew he wasn't a strong man, but the little witch was light enough that even her full weight didn't tax him as much as he'd expected.
He took as much of her weight as she would allow as they began to walk, slow and limping, from the Spire and towards the Settlement, and he let her words flow around him, nodding and making quiet noises of understanding - and approval, at her description of the druids. Less approval of the witches, but a thoughtful acceptance of them as different in her world than his. When she trailed off he distracted her with stories of his own world, the druids and witches there, and the wizards and sorcerers as well. It passed the time and made the trudge of feet over damp soil less noticeable, until mud turned to rough brick and stone, and the path became a street. Ruined buildings rose around them, few taller than two stories and most quite a bit shorter. Some were simple, barely hovels, but as they neared the center of town the size and crumbled grandeur of the buildings increased. He turned from historian to tour guide, pointing out important places like the Atheneum and some of the shops of his friends until they finally made their way to the Temple's doors.
Inside the air was dark and cool, and faint sounds of clinking mugs and talk drifted from a door that lead down - the Rathskeller tavern, he informed her with a chuckle, but led her instead past the pews and towards the back of the building, where the rooms had been turned into an Infirmary for the sick and injured.
Only then did he leave her, handing her into the care of gasping nurses and bustling healers, telling them what he knew of her wounds even as they found a stretcher to carry her back towards a room where she would be washed and examined, her wounds unbound and cleansed and restitched with poultices to fight infection until one of the healers with a magic touch could attend her and set her more firmly on the road to mending.
He took as much of her weight as she would allow as they began to walk, slow and limping, from the Spire and towards the Settlement, and he let her words flow around him, nodding and making quiet noises of understanding - and approval, at her description of the druids. Less approval of the witches, but a thoughtful acceptance of them as different in her world than his. When she trailed off he distracted her with stories of his own world, the druids and witches there, and the wizards and sorcerers as well. It passed the time and made the trudge of feet over damp soil less noticeable, until mud turned to rough brick and stone, and the path became a street. Ruined buildings rose around them, few taller than two stories and most quite a bit shorter. Some were simple, barely hovels, but as they neared the center of town the size and crumbled grandeur of the buildings increased. He turned from historian to tour guide, pointing out important places like the Atheneum and some of the shops of his friends until they finally made their way to the Temple's doors.
Inside the air was dark and cool, and faint sounds of clinking mugs and talk drifted from a door that lead down - the Rathskeller tavern, he informed her with a chuckle, but led her instead past the pews and towards the back of the building, where the rooms had been turned into an Infirmary for the sick and injured.
Only then did he leave her, handing her into the care of gasping nurses and bustling healers, telling them what he knew of her wounds even as they found a stretcher to carry her back towards a room where she would be washed and examined, her wounds unbound and cleansed and restitched with poultices to fight infection until one of the healers with a magic touch could attend her and set her more firmly on the road to mending.
