CLOSED | i'm not one to ever pray for mercy

[aestivation]

WHO: Gwen, Adalia + Guilfoyle & Mystery Guest
WHAT: Gathering a rare herb.
WHEN: Some time this month, handwavily.
WHERE: The Nadashin Marshes.
NOTES: n/a

Comments

[elegiaque]

Pain strains her voice—awareness is terrible, her knuckles turning white around the bow that she is unlikely to release her grip on any time soon—but she is sufficiently stable to bark a laugh, to say, “Apparently I know the wolf as well,” which means yes, of the bird, or at least she thinks so—

It couldn't be, but maybe it was. It's gone, now, when she looks; maybe it's stupid that she looked at all. She doesn't believe in those things, she's sure, except perhaps while she's bleeding.

“I can try,” she says, but Guilfoyle is already wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her from the water, only a tightening of his jaw betraying how much more effort doing so requires of him now than it once might have.

The shift hurts, too, but she grits her teeth through it. It's Guilfoyle who says, “Your own wyvern bite will need attention,” to Alan, impassively rewriting history. What blood magic.

[thunderproof]

It says something, maybe, that Adalia didn't even notice Alan's own wound, too preoccupied with Gwenaëlle's. She pushes to her feet, looking between Gwen and Alan with a rather torn expression — she can only do so much, and if she spreads her limited healing abilities between both of them she can do even less.

Not to mention that that hardly looks like a wyvern bite, but that's not particularly important at the moment, is it.

"I could... help? With that? I can try to help Gwenaëlle walk better or I can try to close that up some, or I could do both with less efficacy, what would be most helpful?"