================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Night < About 9:21 PM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 1 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: New <HIDDEN>
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: Mon Aug 13 08:07:04 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
Mia
Mithsul
Thorhur
Niinaeth
Maglind

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The twilight lingers over the golden wood, casting shadows where before brightly lit forest floors created havens for many life forms. The bushes and trees that serve to protect the inhabitants of the field hospice rustle softly in a breeze. All about this talan in the trees a sense of revival and renewal abounds, from the fragrant aroma, to the hushed attendants. Inside, four figures lay on pallets with various wounds.

Mithsul lays far enough from the entrance to be able to see narrowly out, his pallor improving more each day. Green eyes lay beneath a prominent brow that knits together whenever he shifts positions. A blanket is draped once more across his hips, exposing the bandaged chest. Yellow and greenish bruises peep from the edges of said bandages, becoming the colorful picture of an edhel mending. His normally tidy black braid is unbound for comfort, and curls of midnight fall to contrast against the whites of his shoulders and arms. His gaze is fixed upon the entrance, perhaps hoping for a glimpse of something besides the sheltering hospice?

Dreams. A place where the troubles of the outside world are forgotten, where the cares of life are numbed, where you can do anything you choose. A place all your own, where you are free from the world and all the people around you. However, they must all come to an end, and it is with great reluctance that Thorhur slips from the world of dreams into reality, a reality where pain and the cares of the world will find him. He had slept all night, and dreamed of his childhood, of things that calmed him, made him forget...

His eyes open slowly. He looks around slowly. It is the same scenery, the same faces. His bandage has been replaced some time during his repose, and no new blood had come. He tried to move the arm. It hurt less than yesterday. He tries to sit up but the world spins. His head is pounding. The first thing he says, the first thing that comes to his mind, is that, and it is in a weak voice that he says, "My head is killing me."

Mia moves impassively among the injured, her eyes going to wounds and bandages with little emotion attached. She walks with purpose, dignity, and a haughty grace that makes her seem almost cold and without compassion. But anyone who knows the healer knows well not believe what you might see, or what she might project.

She pauses as Thorhur speaks, an eyebrow raised in irony. "That would be payment for foolishness. Next time, do not get hit." She looks at the injured and sighs, speaking to those who are capable of responding, and worrying about those who are not at a later time (if they can sleep, then they are doing fine... otherwise they'd be moaning in pain), "Who is first, then?"

Morning, day, and twilight pass for some within the Field Hospital, as the effects of strongly brewed herbal teas runs their course and provide healing rest. Alas, as nightfall sweeps over the wood, the Clothier becomes more restless, and soon his head tosses back and forth as his dreams become more vocal and he wakens slowly. "No, fine.......fine, have work." He mutters softly as a hand flies up to bat away a dream figure. "Just a scratch." he grumbles.

Shifting, he gasps out as sleep is quickly lost to the reality of a heavily injured leg. Crystal blue eyes blink several times, as he lies there silently, taking in the sights and sounds surrounding him.

Thorhur, turning over to face Mia, smiles at the healer. "Ah hello Mia," he says his voice a bit stronger now. "May I just say that it is hard not to get hit when you are in combat with an angry troll?" he asks with a smile. Trying again he manages to sit, his arm throbbing but getting less and less painful with each passing day. "Tend to Mithsul first," he tells the healer firmly, his eyes traveling to where Mithsul's cot is.

Mia laughs softly, shaking her head at Thorhur. "You are smarter than a troll, and faster! The key to not getting hit is to not be where the troll is going to be. Simple, really, and part of basic training when I was in charge. Always remember, a moving target is much more difficult to make contact with than one that is stationary." She looks to Mithsul, then to Galharth, and back to Thorhur with a bit of a grin. "And if you don't mind, I think I will tend to the moaning, delusional quendi, first."

She kneels by the tailor and sighs. "Just look at what you have done to yourself. When will you learn not to go anywhere without me?" Gently, she moves cloth and bandages from the leg wound and, with deft maneuvers, takes a few small items from a group of pouches neatly concealed at her waist.

Flopping his arm over his eyes, Galharth practically pouts. "It wasn't my intent," he mutters with a pause to wince and draw a deep breath as Mia reveals the wound. "That hurts," he hisses softly with a slight edge to his voice.

Shifting slightly, he tries to look at the wound for himself without much sucess. "How bad?" He mutters in frustration and pain. Panting a few times, he hisses again, "That /really/ hurts. Can't you knock me out or something?"

Mithsul turns his gaze slowly toward the healer, and the other patients, almost as if he were dreamy. The greens of his eyes were not as clear as their normal wont, perhaps from the medicines the attendants have been plying him and the others lately. Groggily almost, a smile forms at Galharth's protesting, though not a smile of joy or lightheartedness, more of sympathy. To Thorhur the sentinel speaks, his words not really slurred but thick sounding. "The other night...Maglind..I remember bits and pieces of the Master Calriel trying to work with him?" His question may seem vague, though they are without a doubt posed towards Thorhur.

"I will keep that in mind," Thorhur replies with a weak grin. Then, as quickly as the smile appears it is gone. His expression is one of concern as he turns his body over to see who the "delusional quendi" is, and he finds himself staring at Galharth. Sighing again he turns over on his back and stares at the sky, looking grinly upon the arm, which hangs useless at his side. The medicines were starting to wear off and the pain was coming back slowly. "It is always worst when you wake up," he mutters to himself.

At hearing Mithsul's question memories of the previous night come flooding back. He does not respond for a bit, and when he does his voice was grim. "Yes, Calriel asked me to assist her in helping Maglind. He was in bad shape, but before I could see more one the pain in my arm became too great and I had to go back to bed while the healers tended to it." he says this with a frown. He was becoming impatient with just sitting on his cot like he was useless.

"I would rather keep you awake for this part, if you don't mind," Mia asks, without really offering a choice. "And as I told Thorhur: if you didn't want to get hit, you should have worked harder not to." Her hands move as if of their own accord, preparing a clean white cloth with a tincture from a tiny crystal vial. She takes a small something from her pouch and holds it out for the ellon to put in his mouth. "Chew this," she instructs, "But do not swallow the root, only the juice."

As she waits, she takes in a deep breath and can't help but chuckle to Mithsul. "Yes, you have all been worked on in the past few days, and spiritually speaking, you are sound. The state of your wounds, however... well, lets see what I can do with the help of my flora, as what is good for the soul is not always what the body desires." Again, a raised eyebrow to Thorhur, "You would be suprised, my friend, at how much a few simple herbs can take away even the most grating of pains. Tell me in the morn if you are not much improved."

Accepting the root with a shakey hand, the clothier peers at it cautiously before popping it into his mouth. He makes a face as he begins to chew, but it's hard to tell if the face is one resulting from the pain in his leg or the taste in his mouth. "Don't know why we didn't just shoot a few arrows and run," Galharth mumbles around the root in his mouth. ".....wasn't even going to take a strike before I was going to run."

Trying once more to move, so to gain a better view of his own wound and the others around him, he gasps as his leg moves slightly. "Stupid... I shouldn't move.... " he scolds himself as his eyes water from the pain. "Everyone's alright, aren't they?" he asks in a worried tone as he turns his eyes to peer at the other three around him.

"If I remember correctly.." Mithsul pauses, almost as if he might not remember correctly, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts before he continues. "I did tell you to run.." His black brows knit together once more, leaving a furrow splitting his forehead as he turns his gaze to address the tailor. "And..not for the reason you accused me of Tailor." The sentinel's voice remains hushed, does not even raise in tones, however his irritability is made shown when he forgets momentarily the travails that he suffers when he tries to raise. Lifting his black curled head only a bare inch from the pallet serves as a ready reminder as a light gasp emits from between his lips and his left hand raising to the bandages near his collarbone.

Thorhur only nods weakly at Mia before he turns again to the sky. He tries hard to suppress a groan, for the medicines have done their job, and the pain is back with a vengeance. He bites his lower lip hard and tries to soothe the pain, but to no avail. He waits as patiently as he can, but the pain is great. This time, biting his lower lip, he can't help but groan, although the sound is muffled and a bit squeaky. It would have almost been comical had it not come from one who is in great pain. The sentinel cannot even answer Galharth's question. He can only stare blankly at the sky.

"If by "fine" you mean bloody and bruised," Mia responds, "Then yes, everyone is fine. No missing limbs, and everyone has their ears and eyes, so that would be a good thing." Mia works diligently, her hands moving almost faster than the eye can see. In moments, she has the wound on Galharth's leg cleaned, dressed, and wrapped in a fresh cloth. For the brief period of time that she is working, she speaks not a word, but hums softly under her breath, pausing now and then to place her hands firmly upon the wound.

Her tone is fairly even, but as she sits back and allows Galharth's leg to rest, she looks from tailor to Sentinel and back. "You can point fingers at one another later, but while you are here, you will keep from blaming anyone for your folly. You forget whom you are dealing with, as I will not be compassionate or understanding about such foolishness. If you are going to go traipsing off into danger, then you should be expected to accept responsibility for your actions, AND learn to support anyone who travels with you." She turns to the next moaning edhel with ready hands, a bit of the root she gave Galharth in her hand for Thorhur.

On the far mat, an ellon stirs. He lies prone, and has been doing so for the last few days. The blood on his back has stained the bandages again, and Maglind raises his head and grumbles slightly.

"Later?" The crafter says to Mia, "Nay, it's been said and needs adressed," he adds as his eyes narrow, and his head turns towards the Sentinel. "Perfectly pigheaded order. You join the Order and suddenly you've the right to order the rest of us around as if we're idle minded fools who can't think for themselves. Do you even know how long I've trained or what my qualifications are besides seam sticher?" Winching and clearly pained, the Clothier's face turns bright red. "A good elf evaluates the situation, assess their assets, and make a reasonable deduction to take action. Even a crafter knows well enough to do that, and certainly a Courier is well versed to do so before interning with the Order. Lostiriel seemed to manage well enough getting us all out with too much injury to herself other than stress."

Forgetting for the moment he's to chew, a slight amount of drool dribbles out of his mouth... saliva he's suppose to swallow. Looking away from the Guard, licking his lips in a pathetic attempt to clean himself up. "Stop, just stop making me talk. We're hurt, and this only makes my leg hurt more."

Mithsul snorts, or atleast he tries to snort it coming out more of a moan then a respectable nay-sound it was suppose to be. "Pigheaded..sure. Next time you want to go gallavanting to retrieve some hair-brained contraption perhaps you should just go alone. Perhaps take a bunch of crafters...if you do not need anyone to help protect you." Green eyes flare, cutting through the clouded expression he had donned for most of the recent past. "I was not ordering you to run simply for the chance at some elusive glory that /you/ implied. I told you to run to avoid exactly what happened. Perhaps if you had ran then this hospice would have been a few short on visitors." Turning his head, too slowly due to pain for it to be the strong statement that Mithsul wishes for, the Sentinel looks away from the tailor gazing once more at the entrance. "Make you talk? You spout from the mouth quite well on your own."

Pressing his lips together, perhaps to keep his own mouth from spouting any more, Mithsul might have continued but a glance to Maglind silences his protests..for the moment.

Thorhur, the pain so strong, looks to Mia. "Mia, please help me," he pants. Then, closing his eyes and clenching his fists, he shouts through gritted teeth, "Both of you shut up! What's done is done!" then, he turns back to Mia and grins. "They were only making my headache worse."

Long as she sat crouched on the balls of her feet in a corner. Listening in silence, watching and waiting. The time has come at last and Niinaeth pushes herself up to her full heigth, leaf green eyes flashing in anger, "That is enough." the elleth growls between clenched teeth.

"The fault lies in not one present, rather in all. Look no further than self in which to place it. Little did I see Haldir leave the shelter of the trees. Never have I know a sword or arrow to cleave through stone, yet..some here believe it is possible. It is not foolish to run, it is foolish to believe the strength of your arm can fell that beast."

Slowly and with certain steps she approaches Galharth and knees, tapping him lightly on his head, "Use what you have been given."

Maglind sighs, attempting to prop himself up on one elbow. Failing, he sinks back on his face, but the look he gives both sentinel and master tailor is heavy with pain and reproach.

"Communication failed," Galharth mutters, to Niinaeth's words and the taps against his head. Even with this admittance of failure, he offers a slight glare towards each Sentinel in turn. Laying back, he sighs heavily. "But perhaps it is not enough. Perhaps the Marchwarden should set us all upon a path of understanding. I knew well enough not to try to face off with the beast, but still I didn't retreat." Pausing he flops his arm over his face to either shield his embarrassment or his pain. "I should know by now the borders are secure and that there is no danger in retreating to them."

Another sigh emits from his lips as he turns his head slightly to peer out from under his arm to watch as Mia attends to Thorhur.

Mia holds a finger up over Galharth's newly redressed wound, and one over Mithsul's chest, looking at both pointedly. "Either this conversation ends, as I have told you to do already, or else I make it so that speach is nigh on impossible for you for the next few minutes. A healer I may be, and sworn to keep the people of Lothlorien healthy, but I do not have to deal with petty squabbling by those who are neither one trained to do so much as wipe a troll's nose, let alone battle with any kind of egotistical leanings. As far as I am concerned, you are both idiots for running out there with the weapons knowledge of a tree stump! Now, it ends!"

She turns back to Thorhur and chides him, "Chew the root, as I told Galharth to do, swallowing only the juice. It will remove the pain in seconds." And without another word, she sets to tending the young warrior.

To Mia's words, Galharth is wise enough to keep his mouth shut and his face covered with his arm. Biting his lip slightly, the clothier seems to be waiting for the Gardener to calm.

Thorhur chews the root slowly, sucking the juice. He is not sure whether the tears in his eyes are from the pain in his right arm or the root in his mouth. As he does so, he looks first at Galharth then back at Mithsul, glad that they have subsided at last. "You know," he says quietly in between chews to Mia. "Usually I'm the one being put into my place. I am enjoying seeing someone else being lectured besides me." He tries to smile but the taste in his mouth is so foul that he grimaces and continues the painful task of chewing the juice from this unappetizing root.

"I should communication with the beast is folly, yet there are ways." Niinaeth gives Mia a sidelong glance coupled with a twitching of her lip upward, "Someday when you are well I will tell you. As for communication with the order, it is folly as well. For the moment at least." Twisting her body around from kneeling, she sits at the Prefects side on the ground lowering her voice as well as her head.

"I know that which troubles. I have felt the scorn and unreason myself. The outright disrepect and attitude. I assure you it will end. I will be speaking with both Legarwin and Haldir as well the Lady if need be."

Mithsul seems somewhat mollified at Galharth's words, though he still did not look toward the tailor. Instead he mumbles something about perhaps acknowledging but also about being misunderstood. However he does no elaborate as Mia's daunting finger held rather threateningly over his wounds stops any words that might have come from his lips. "Of course Lady..."

"Foolish," grates Maglind under his breath, "me." The warden attempts to turn away from the scene, covering his face, but this only rolls him off the mat.

Thorhur stops chewing at seeing this and raises his voice so all can hear. Surprisingly his voice is still loud considering he hasn't shouted in many days. "We are all to blame," he states firmly, looking at Galharth, Mithsul, Mia, Niinaeth, and Maglind in turn. "We all made mistakes that caused this. We cannot lay the blame on one person because no one person is to blame. So stop feeling sorry for yourselves and focus on healing! I am the only one that has not complained because I have accepted the fact that I erred somewhere during that battle. It was a plan that had some flaws, but instead of looking at it as a failure we must learn from it so that the same thing does not happen next time! So stop blaming each other and yourselves now and everyone will feel better. I can guarantee it!" Then, with his speech finished, Thorhur continues the chewing of the root as if nothing at all has occured.

No serious bleeding or tears to deal with here: No, instead Thorhur's arm poses more of an issue with bone structure. Mia moves the injured limb into position, laying it flat by the edhel's side as soon as the mandrake has started to work, then removes yet another vial from yet another hidden pouch. This one she brings to Thorhur's lips, tipping the green (and fragrantly scented) liquid to his lips to drink. "This will promote blood flow, and the mending of bone and muscle. You will be well enough to leave the field hospital and return to the city by tomorrow. I will not expect you to stay in the healer's telain, but I do expect you to come and see me every day so that I may check the splint and sling. If I find out that you have been using the arm at all," She looks down at the warrior sweetly as she continues, "I will hunt you down and force you to stay for at least three weeks."

As Niinaeth finishes her forwarning, Mia lets out a soft chuckle. "Good luck with that, my friend! You know as well as I that relations between the Royal Court and the Order have always been strained, at best. YOu can complain to the Lady, but all that will happen is that the members of your court will pay the price for any reprimand the Order recieves. Best to simply prepare your people better, and teach them their role in battles." She grins at the Minister, "And before you say a thing, I had to deal with enough Court members who had delusions of grandeur to make me somewhat of an expert on how pretentious your lot can be in those situations. I'm not saying you, of course, and never would I even suggest, but you cannot argue that it hasn't been an issue in the recent past."

Still hiding safely under his arm, Thorhur's words cause the Clothier to snort loudly. Then again, perhaps the sound is a strange strangled hint of pain? "Someone certainly know when and how to suck up." He mutters under his breath. "Delusional indeed...."

At Mia's words, Galharth temper rises slightly. "Is that how you see me Mia? Suffering from delusions of grandeur? You of all here should know how hard I work to gain understanding and skill, and yet I still submit to the orders given by the ranking Guard." He frowns, which when mixed with the effects of the root, his anger, and the pain, all results in a boyish pouty expression. "It is the matter of being lumped into a category without any real effort to be taken seriously by those who assume. Awwwww, forget it..." he mumbles, clearly upset, and most definately not feeling well. His arm returns to cover his face, and his breathing seems strained as if he works to control emotion.

Niinaeth looks upward toward Mia with a grin and wink, "Aye..it has forever been an issue. Lest it be brought to a halt, the outcome shall be simple. One need not the gift of forsight to see either. We shall stand together, or die alone." Shrugging her small shoulders as if this is common knowledge, she looks from one wounded to the next.

"I say embrace your weakness. Find not shame in them, find not jealousy in those who do not have the same. For they too have them, different of course, yet still present. It is in doing this we learn to rely on one another, to trust and to stand together."

AT hearing Galharth's words to him Thorhur becomes angry. Looking over at him he mutters, "I am just trying to keep us all together. This was your hunt Galharth. Mithsul and I came to assist you when we could have stayed behind patrolling the borders, and you thank us with your ungrateful attitude. You are so quick to blame us. Perhaps you should be thanking us for coming along, and thank Maglind as well! None of the Order had to come, but we did, and you have shown little gratefulness for us! Instead you criticize us!" Thorhur could not take it any longer, and now that he had spoken his mind he felt much better. Clenching his hands into fists he continues to chew, this time with a ferocity that wasn't there before.

A sigh is given, long-suffering and perhaps even sounding a bit wounded Mithsul grunts as he once more turns to face the others. Green eyes are hooded, his lips a slightly pinched, and his breathing becomes somehow more deep until he finally is situated to his liking. Even after he stills it takes the sentinel a few heartbeats before he speaks, to all not just the tailor. "I am not jealous. Nor do I wish to take on the world alone." Saying these words his gaze were focused on the minister from his own house, Aderthad. As he continues his eyes light upon the form of the healer, "Nor did I suffer from some arrogant misconception that a few weeks serious training would ready me for a battle against a beast such as that one." His gaze finally alights upon the tailor, though pain is registering in his mein, so is another emotion. Perhaps anger, or perhaps just resentment either way his words were slow to come. "Nor was I trying not to take you seriously. My thought was that the other guards and myself slow the troll down enough to where you and the others could retreat safely. Then Believe you me, I was planning on beating a hasty retreat myself. I misjudged the speed of the troll, even had you all retreated I would not have slowed it down any. The speed of the thing.." his words trail off before his lashes flutter, not asleep just closing.

"Fool's delirium," mutters Maglind, torn voice barely carrying. "Go to sleep and worry later, if you can." He winds the sheets tight, spreading red, rolling over again.

"The Healer has bid us silent in our arguements." Galharth says in a flat tone from under his arm. "I will entertain your attitude and comments later if you will it. As has been pointed out, this is not the time nor place. Two among us still need Mia's attention."

"Sleep may indeed be best for all of us, so that we can hurry along the time till we can discuss matters that weight upon our minds," the clothier says, glancing from under his arm toward the Minister. "I would like to participate in the discussion that you plan, if you'll permit me."

"Correction. You did in fact have to come. Are you not aware of Lord Celeborns decree concerning the leaving of the borders? There are few in which are given leave to venture alone." Nodding to Galharth's words Niinaeth leaves his side, and moves to Maglind and returns to sitting as she reaches out to take his hand in comfort.

"We are each set to task by those who rule this land. Those of wisdom beyond that which most can aspire to. They see to the heart of each, they set tasks accordingly. Not to belittle, not place any in the positions of higher honor. Rather to defend each and our home. I will admit this day to all, many times have I hid. As is expected of me. They know my weakness in battle and as such, there is no shame. They to know my strength in words, for it is entrusted to me as well as the court the ensure safe passage with humble words. Brightest words I have heard this day Galharth, sleep all. Mia has spoken, far more would I face a troll than her anger."

Mia places the small bottle back in her pouch, then lays her hands upon his arm and hums once more, falling silent as she works. But soon she is done, and without another word to this patient, she moves on to the next: Mithsul.

But as he ends his speach, she just laughs. "Oh, now there is this "arrogant misconception" you were just asking about! You wished to slow down a troll? Seriously? And you had how many with you to help accomplish such a feat?" She throws her head back to laugh this time. "Fools, each and every one of you, and lucky that you are alive. There is one rule, and I shudder to think what is being taught these days: Troll? Run. Unless you are part of a contingent of fifty hard and well-trained warriors, you run. There is no slowing down a troll, there is death. Immediate, stupid, painful death. Now, you too: chew the root. Not another word, or I will tell you again how ridiculous you are being."

She is not done doling out her opinion, as she looks to Galharth. "I know you enough to say with some certainty that in this, you have become messy. So wrapped up are you in this whole affair that you do not seem to be thinking things out clearly. If you were, perhaps you would not be in such a hurry to move forward, which would give you more time to think things through, and would help you to think things out clearly." She cleans Mithsul's bandages quickly as she speaks, a smile given to the tailor. "I think nothing ill of you at all, Galharth, and I think you should know that by now. And I think I know you well enough to tell you this in all honesty, and without fear of you getting angry or upset." She takes a breath and sits back, admiring her handywork on the Sentinel. "In other words, Galharth, I think you need to take a break from all of this for awhile and rest."

"As will I," Thorhur tells Niinaeth firmly before laying back and shooting a glance at Galharth that is a cross between remorse and irritation. Laying back he turns over on his side towards Mithsul, and breathes deeply. He wants to say more but knows it will only bring more anger from the assorted crowd.

Perhaps in silent concession to the Tailors words, Mithsul does not utter another sound. Instead he simply keeps his eyes shut, using his left hand to pull his blanket back upwards toward his stomach. Having said his piece to most concerned Mithsul accepts his turn at the root-chewing with no remark. If his chewing slowed slightly after the first few bites, his lips curving downward he says naught about the medicinal flavor. "I acknowledged that I was wrong about the speed of that troll." was all that he mumbled around the bitter root.

But Maglind pulls his hand away from the Minister, pulling the mangled sheets up to his face, and he says no more words.

"Mithsul, it is all right," Thorhur reassures the Sentinel firmly, shooting a quick reproachful glance to Galharth before putting his face in his pillow.

"Rest? I know not this word." The Clothier admits in defeat. As he speaks, his voice softens in rest. "In fact, it is your words of encouragement that has set me upon this path to gain the skills to face the unknown without hesitiation, my friend."

"Perhaps the next journey we can make together." He mutters softly so not to disturb the Healer at her work. "Though it will be a while till I can walk." As he speaks, the crafter ignores what glances he might be receiving.

Long distance to Mithsul: Galharth finds it amusing that he's breaking character to yell at me, when IC situations make the matter highly unlikely that he would. He's suddenly acting the part of an experienced Guard without IC experience to do so. I almost look forward to the discussion IC.

A poultice is placed upon Mithsul's wound, then again Mia places her hands upon the now-covered spot and softly hums. Satisfied, and finally hitting a pace she seems content with as she moves from patient to patient, she sits back on her heels and places some of her items back in her pouch. "Stop blaming the tailor," she tells the group, as a whole. "As I have pointed out previously, and will continue to point out until I can no longer speak, you all behaved poorly. The fact that you continue to squabble after being warned by me is indication enough that none of you are ready to handle being released from this place. You are turning a place of healing into another battlefield, and while I will tolerate alot, I will not stand such a high level of disrespect towards the other patients. You should all be ashamed of yourselves."

She is now ready for Maglind, and him she approaches a bit tentatively. "I fear to see what lies beneath you, and I ache to think of what poor treatment you have thus-far received if you are again bleeding so freely. Let us turn you so I may better work, and end this seeping once and for all."

She takes a moment to send a smile to her friend, gently chiding him. "The problem is that you rush into things. I encouraged you to do more, to not fear adventure, but realize that learning and preparing yourself ahead of time is part of that adventure! Enjoy the learning, and use the time to gain respect and trust in yourself."

"I'm fine," mumbles Maglind. "Calriel spoke with me. But I ... tried to get up." But the warden acquiesces, loosening his grip on the sheets.

At Mia's chastisements, the Sentinel has the graciousness to flush slightly, his demeanor falling back to that of a wounded edhel, though he carefully keeps his gaze locked away from anyone in the telain. The root having taken full effect, the lines creasing his brow and corners of his eyes smooth away. "I think I shall take the Warden's advice as well. Sleep, suddenly sounds the best course." With that Mithsul drifts off into a healing slumber.

"Speaking to someone is one thing," Mia responds to Maglind, "Obviously those words had no effect on you, or else you would not have moved." Silently, she has a hard job ahead of her, she sets to work. Removing small bottles, folded cloth, tinctures, salves, lotions, and potions, the healer sets to work. All through it is the ever-present humming, a sound both soothing and haunting in its tone. Her hands never cease their movement, but deftly do they handle the tasks she sets them to: First with cleaning Maglind's wounds, then packing with herbs and medicines, and finally with resealing the bandages.

"I don't know," whispers Maglind, trying not to disturb the humming. His voice catches slightly: "She did something ... I don't remember. Ouch."

A healing sleep consumes the Tailor, and his arm relaxes and slips from covering his face to rest above his head. From his restful and relaxed position, it is clear that Mia has managed to ease his pain and set him further on the road to recovery.

Thorhur, feeling the medicine kick in, falls asleep.