================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Night < About 2:46 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 1 Orenidh <Middle-Days>
Moon phase: Waning Crescent <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Sun Aug 12 09:55:28 2007
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Field Hospital
You are in a small clearing cut into the thickets. All about you, the bushes and trees grow thick and unwavering, blocking out most of the sunlight and dimming the atmosphere. Despite the lack of sunlight or moonlight, the clearing gives of a calm, quiet, secure feeling. Here is where the Cuigrithweg have made their Field Hospital. Several woven mats are laid about on the ground in neat rows and a pair of small chests rest at the north side of the Hospital. High above the mats, a large tarp is strung to provide some shelter on the off chance that it should rain.

Contents:
Galharth
Lostiriel
Mithsul
Niinaeth
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Heavily scented tourches burn at various points within the Field Hospital, casting the area under the thick canopy in a soft light. Beyond the foliage darkness reighs, and with it the sounds of night echo all around. Attendant's and Apprentices wander between the injured as they perform their tasks. On this day, four lay at upon the Healer's cots.

"Drink this," A dark haired Attendant whispers softly as she offers a bitter smelling tea to the Master Clothier. "It will ease the pain."

Grimacing, Galharth nods as he swallows the tea. "Nasty," he chokes out. After receiving a sympatetic smile, he turns to peer at the others with concern.

Mithsul lays on a pallet near Galhart, certainly within hushed speaking distance. A soft blanket is draped across his hips, stopping just below the simplistic belt wrapped around the grey trousers. The soft light of the torches bathes the sentinal in its flickering gaze, playing across the white bandage that wraps around his right shoulder then pulled tight across his chest in a diagonal slash. The heaviness of gauze near the top right portion of his chest suggest that his wound was relatively short, starting just as the right shoulder meets the collar bone, descending down. Perhaps the ellon's fall to the ground prevented the axe from continuing its arc through his chest.

His breathing even and steady almost as if he were a sleep, however the cloudied green gaze that centered upon Galharth. Mithsul's pallor was improving, his lips no longer blending seemlessly with his face, however his black brows still seem an ugly contrast to the pale pale flesh. Watching the attendant ply the Tailor with apparently foul tasting brews a smile quirks the Sentinels lips before a grimace erases it. "Is good to see that you are not so injured that you can not complain of the medicines you recieve." he comments through a husky tone.

A silent movement stirs as Lostiriel enters the field hospital, her wide eyes searching for her felled companions. She notices Galharth and Mithsul first, hearing the slight sound of their speech. A sigh of relief escapes her as she moves over to them, searching their faces for some sign that life is returning to their wounded bodies. "You seem some improved," she says to them, and this brings the first smile to her lips since that horrible battle. Her face is still paler than usual and a haunted expression lingers in her eyes, but the smile works wonders for removing the shadow of worry from about her. "It brings great relief to see you alert and speaking again."

Shifting slightly, the Tailor props himself up on his elbows before glancing towards the Sentinel. "It is good to seem someone awake at all," Galharth says softly with a slur. "Boneset and something that kills the pain, bitter..."

Shifting once more, he lays back down and stares up at the canopy above. "My leg feels strange, Grot cut deep." He says with a wince. "How are you, Mithsul?"

At the sound of a fellow Courier, he turns his head to look up into her face. "Alert? Barely..... Lostiriel, I owe you great thanks...." he whispers with a deeply pained sincerity.

"Lostiriel..." The name is spoken with warm inflections even through the hushed almost strained voice. Mithsul stops briefly as Galharth gives his thanks to the courier, respecting the Tailor's right to do so before he speaks again. "Indeed, I do not remember much after ...after that thing hit me." Shifting, an attempt at finding a more comfortable position, draws a sharp inhalation of breath and a slow hiss as Mithsul exhales as he stills. It is some seconds before he speaks again, his gaze falling and lingering on Lostiriel. "Most of the last few days have been hazy and blurred. However I do remember being told of your actions. It seems we all have a debt of gratitude owed to you."

It was not until he had finished his small speech to the courier that he turns and addresses Galharth again. "I did not see your wound clearly, I am ashamed to admit that my fear blinded me to most details other then the troll and hoping to atleast slow it some. Atleast you came back in one piece it appears." His left arm slowly rises to adjust the blanket thrown over him, awkwardly pulling it up a bit as he continues. " For myself, I count myself lucky. The pain is dear, but it could have been worse..much worse." Every movement slowed, seeming to atleast Mithsul to take forever to complete, the sentinal lands his gaze directly upon the Tailor. Something besides pain, fatigue and even pure stubborness lay behind the green gaze, something hinted at by the slight tightening of the jaw, quirk of the brow. "I will not impede your recovery mellon, however be sure that I will wish to speak with you once you and I are well enough."

Ignoring Galharth's statement of thanks, Lostiriel replies lightly, "No, Galharth, what you owe me is a new cloak. I'm afraid that mine was rather ruined." Still, even this joviality fails her, and she sighs. "No...gratitude is hardly necessary. I, who was unable to fight, was able to rescue those who were badly wounded as they bravely attempted to fight off that...monster. My part was the lesser of the two." She turns then to Mithsul and, at his words of thanks, she falls silent. She closes her grey eyes and, when she opens them, they are glistening. "I was so afraid for you especially, Mithsul. It was my honor to help you, slight as though I feel my efforts were."

Without looking at him, Galharth nods. "Aye, we do indeed have things to discuss," he mumbles softly. To Lostiriel, his eyes sparkle with gratitude, even though his lips can manage only the weakest of smiles. "A cloak indeed, and a dress or two along with it." Shifting slightly he grimaces and gasps in pain. Pausing, a hand goes to lay upon the bandaged leg, and he takes several deep breaths to recover his thougths. "I will certainly make it known that a cloak can indeed save a life.... the use of yours saved mine."

Thorhur looks around blankky. He has been asleep and has just woken from a painfl night. Quietly his left hand goes immediately to his right arm. A bandage has been wrapped around it tightly, and the pain has somewhat subsided. Looking about he sees Galharth nearby, then making a vain effort to sit up he looks around and catches glimpses of Mithsul and Lostiriel. He wants to say something but all that comes out is a groan.

"Do not underestimate your importance Lostiriel." Mithsul speaks softly, a look is given to Galharth in acknowledgement of the tailor's agreement. "If not for you then many of us would not have survived until help came." Dark lashes splay against pallid cheeks briefly as Mithsul closes his eyes for a span of time before re-opening them. "It could be said that members of the guard failed you and the Tailor that evening." At the groan that comes from another pallet reaches the sentinal's ears, concern flicks across his mein as he calls in a low voice. "Thorhur, are you well?"

Shaking her head, Lostiriel replies, "We all had our parts to play, and we all did what we could." She smiles then upon them all and begins backing away. "I will leave you now to rest." And, so saying, she turns and exits as quietly as she entered.

"Attendant! Thorhur seems in need of something for the pain." Galharth calls out in a groggy slur. Clearly the tea laced with herbs is having an effect upon the Tailor. "Seperating the Court from Guard is....." He pauses and his brow furrows as if finding that moment impossible to think. "....bad." he finally says, clearly disapproving his selection of words.

Taking a deep breath, he releases it slowly and closes his eyes. "Just need to rest a little." Within a moment after his eyes close he falls fast asleep unaware that an attendant now crosses the field hospital to take care of Thorhur.

Thorhur, watching as the attendents approach him, closes his eyes. Then, for it must be what they give him for pain, he falls back into sleep, his arm still throbbing.

Mithsul notes the two other's falling asleep, his gaze both relieved for their saftey yet concerned. "Good evening Lostiriel." was his simple farewell to the courier before he turns his gaze once more to the canopy above. Silently he sits there almost as if he were willing his mere gaze to peirce the canopy to let the starlight in, before he too drifts off into healing sleep.