A woman dressed for a hard ride approached, the same cold blackness in her eyes as in Jorah's, that comes from witnessing death. He was about to reach for the flask in his coat, when she suddenly bent down to a young boy, cut her hand, and pressed his chest. Jorah and the two crow boys gaped as they saw the purple tendrils retreat, and the woman's own hands begin to turn an ugly bruised shade. In several moments, the young patient drew comfortable deep breathes, no longer wheezing.
The warden-lady looked weak from the excertion. Jorah considered the decisiveness inherent in how she cut her hands and took on this sickness, and nodded with pensively respect. He came around the other side of the boy and knelt down.
[color=orange]"Warden, I see now how the cost to heal one is quite high,"[/color] he said, putting a respectful, leather-gloved hand on her tainted hands on his chest.[color=orange] "Let's bring this one away from the sick. Do you have a place for those recovering?"[/color] Jorah had met a Grey Warden, and of the one he he had gotten to know, he knew them to be proud society. He wondered how this one bore the burden of choosing who lived and who died. A warden he knew might have killed herself to save every last one here. That warden would have brushed all rhetoric aside, that her death was just a necessary sacrifice for the problem at hand, if she could take and hold their sickness.
[color=orange]"We can discuss the parcels I bring along the way,"[/color] he pressed, before removing his hands from hers, and gently lifting the child's exhausted form. He did not want to discuss the wine and the poison in such an insane place, where he felt rational thinking could, at any moment, flip upside down.
The warden-lady looked weak from the excertion. Jorah considered the decisiveness inherent in how she cut her hands and took on this sickness, and nodded with pensively respect. He came around the other side of the boy and knelt down.
[color=orange]"Warden, I see now how the cost to heal one is quite high,"[/color] he said, putting a respectful, leather-gloved hand on her tainted hands on his chest.[color=orange] "Let's bring this one away from the sick. Do you have a place for those recovering?"[/color] Jorah had met a Grey Warden, and of the one he he had gotten to know, he knew them to be proud society. He wondered how this one bore the burden of choosing who lived and who died. A warden he knew might have killed herself to save every last one here. That warden would have brushed all rhetoric aside, that her death was just a necessary sacrifice for the problem at hand, if she could take and hold their sickness.
[color=orange]"We can discuss the parcels I bring along the way,"[/color] he pressed, before removing his hands from hers, and gently lifting the child's exhausted form. He did not want to discuss the wine and the poison in such an insane place, where he felt rational thinking could, at any moment, flip upside down.
04-22-2023, 08:20 AM
