[open] a little truth arrives in the dying of each day

[eolasemah]

WHO: Sina and you
WHAT: here we go
WHEN: mid-Harvestmere
WHERE: Hightown and then the Gallows
NOTES: All Sina logs from this point onward will involve discussions/dealing with death and illness, so if you're sensitive about those topics I recommend passing these by.

I. Just outside the Forest Garden [single thread please, 1-3 people max]

Sina still looks like Sina, but if Thedas had photographs, and the ability to compare a person's image of two years ago to their image today, only then would it become achingly clear how much mass she's lost. As the weather grows chill, she has to bundle up more and more just to go to work in her gardens, and even then is constantly cold. But she's been all right, all things considered; she's still upright, at least.

Until she isn't. Having felt a little strange since they found the elf children in the warehouse, Sina has chalked it up to the usual business and the gut-wrenching trauma of what they found. Her chest has felt a little heavier, her step a little slower, her hands a little colder, nothing worth calling a healer about until today: she's nearly down the stairs of the former Chantry when she abruptly loses consciousness.

Crumpling like a doll, Sina scrapes her leg on the last few steps and collapses to the ground, basket of herbs on its side, its contents splayed everywhere. She wakes up at once, but with bleary confusion, disoriented and burning with fever.


II. The Infirmary [ota]

Those who spent any significant time with the rescued elven children may also have caught what ails Sina now, but with a body already so ravaged by weakness, fighting it is clearly difficult for her. She's asleep most of the time, coughing when she's awake, and unable to keep food down.
It's not the first time she's been in this position, but it may be the last.

Comments

[eolasemah]

A coughing fit it is, though a relatively mild one. Sina lurches into motion with the sound, taking a little longer to actually wake up despite her body's automatic impulses.
It lasts about thirty seconds, then she collapses back to the bed again, her pale face in a grimace of pain. When she opens her watery eyes once more, however, a small smile appears at the sight of Thranduil.

[rowancrowned]

[ his hands are not suited for healing. he would spill blood to have a proper healer here, an elven one, suited to treating her. as it is, he can only watch, and comfort-- and his hands are gentle, one on her back to keep her steady that falls away when she's done. ]

Good morning, Sina. I am glad to catch you awake. [ he cups her hand in his own, uncrossing his legs so he might lean forward. ] You must be very bored, henig. A house of healing does not offer much entertainment.

[eolasemah]

The sight of Thranduil is always uplifting, and Sina's weary smile broadens when he speaks. "Hahren," she rasps, pausing to clear her throat and having a difficult time of it. Instead of trying to speak again, she shakes her head mildly. It's boring, yes, but there's no solution when she can't focus on anything but hurting.

[rowancrowned]

I know you are not awake very often, [ he says, ] but would you like company when you are?

[ he has more than enough paperwork to spare some for a bedside watch. ]

Perhaps someone to read to you?

[eolasemah]

A small nod of assent is Sina's only response, apart from a warming of her gaze. There are few at whom she looks the way she does Thranduil, who so quickly became so beloved to her.

[rowancrowned]

[ a smile of his own blooms, private, warm. the book he pulls out is 'meditations and odes to bees', which, despite the name, contains some rather lovely poetry, edging on romantic.

his voice is soft, and low, gently lilting as needed. he is simply there, a comforting presence, and will be until she falls asleep again. ]