"Riot Among the Tents" Log Date: 7/29/99 Log Cast: Maat, Faanshi, FallingStar, TenderHands (NPC Delphi healer emitted by Dara), assorted NPC refugees, Hounds, and guards (emitted by Maat, Faanshi, and Dara) Log Intro: It has recently come to the attention of Nefer Maat Al'Samar, Shakir of the Varati vaisya clan Al'Samar, that the shudra Faanshi who she knows to be in the service of the halfbreed Kiera Khalida is a healer, albeit an untrained one. But even an untrained healer is desperately needed to help the Shakir in the cause she currently champions: the aiding of the Empyrean and Mongrel refugees who have flocked into the Tent City just north of Haven. With the coming of winter, dire fevers have swept through the camp of refugees, outpacing the efforts of the Delphi healers who work with the Varati leader in her quest to aid these homeless individuals. And the Shakir is just desperate enough to try to send word to Faanshi's long-absent mistress for permission to put the shudra to work in the Tent City to aid those who are in need. Faanshi, however, is not willing to wait for word from Kiera, for it has been some time since she has managed to receive word of her mistress's whereabouts. People are dying in the Tent City -- and with that small spark of resolve born in her during her time in Avalon, the shudra maiden feels duty-bound to bring her unruly power to provide what aid she can. But she is not at all prepared for what she finds... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Thursday, January 9, 3905. Year on Earth: 1505 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Crescent Season: Winter Weather: Clouds Temperature: Cold *==========================================================================* Tent City - Outside the City Walls - Haven(#1077Je) The tents are arranged in orderly blocks with wide lanes, with each group centered around a firepit. One might wonder about the wideness of the 'streets' and their orderly drainage furrows until one notices that the canvas has been oiled for rainproofness: the distance serves to lessen the chances of fire sweeping throughout the entire encampment. There is a covered water barrel at the corner of every 'block' both for potable use as well as for firefighting, if needed. The latrine pits are, thankfully, downwind, and protected by screens of rushes for privacy. Refugees can be observed moving throughout the encampment; almost all are Empyrean. There are also a large number of mongrels present, bartering or selling goods to those who make this place their temporary home. Hounds and Varati make up the remaining portion of the camp, protecting and distributing food, respectively. Chill air tunnels between the rows of tents, seeping perniciously into any bit of warmth. Combat between warm and cold usually results in the dominance of the winter temperature and all around, the sound of coughing can be heard betwixt moans of pain. The lines leading away from the Delphic healing building -- at the far south of the encampment -- never diminish but are a constant reminder that disease has reared its ugly head. Contents: Maat Obvious exits: Out A mongrel trots past, a bag over his shoulder, intent on some errand. In the bitter cold of winter, the relentless nature of illness marks its progress by the sounds of coughing and moaning from behind the thin walls of the canvas tents. A cart rumbles down the dirt street of the Tent City. It carries two Empyrean corpses, thin and shrunken from the killing ague. As the cart rumbles past, a Varati woman steps aside, giving the cart plenty of room to pass. Her golden eyes gaze at the corpses as they are carried north to the pyres and for a moment, it would seem that all the exhaustion in the world sits behind the orbs. Yet, time and illness does not stand still and with a heave of her shoulders, Maat continues on down the street to pick up new loaves of stale bread to distribute to the hungry. She had known the city of tents was out here, of course -- yet somehow, in her quiet searches through Haven's streets, it hadn't yet occurred to her to venture out here to see what help she can provide. Or perhaps, Faanshi thinks to herself as she and her puppy Kosha reach the fringes of the refugee encampment, she'd feared coming under the eyes of the Delphi healers she's known to be lending what aid they can here...? With an effort, for the smells and the sounds and the looks on the faces of those she passes hit her solidly in her belly, like a blow, Faanshi sternly informs herself that her delay in coming here to lend her aid was inexcusable. Hopefully, if Ushas is willing, she will be able to make up for it... if her power will hold up... That last little shred of fear niggles at the shudra's mind as she stops a passing Mongrel and inquires earnestly of him where the Imphada Shakir, Nefer Maat al'Samar, might be found. Given a direction, Faanshi sets out in it, keeping a close clutch on Kosha's tether. The farther she goes into the city of tents, the more a sullen little swirl of eldritch power roils within her... and she begins to hope she can find the Imphada Maat and ask for her direction before her magic demands she pick the next tent she passes and lay hands on whatever poor soul might be within. As luck might have it, Maat is stepping out of the tent that serves as her headquarters with her arms fulls of bread loaves. Though the items are a week old and stale, they are still sustenance and enough to keep a body going for another day, even during times of trial. Though she is of rank and stature, especially in the eyes of a shudra, the woman carries the loaves as if she were any servant and she would be carrying them to the long lines that stretch from the Delphic Healer's Clinic on the south side of the camp, if it were not for the fact that a few steps into the cold, she spies Faanshi and her dog. It is without polite preamble, possibly due to the fact that the toil of fighting the disease has stripped politeness from her, she says to the shudra, "Faanshi Khalida, did your mistress send you?" Relief flashes across the green eyes of the shudra as her head snaps in Maat's direction; immediately, she curtseys as is proper, tugging on Kosha's lead to get him to halt next to her. As she speaks, though, her voice is humble with the denial she must speak, roughened around the edges with the beginnings of a subtle strain; her words are delivered with an uncharacteristic swiftness. "No, Imphada Shakir, but I heard that I am needed here... and... Imphada Kiera has not been easy to find for weeks now... thus, I felt it best that I come now... if I-I may be permitted to try to heal the sick ones here..?" Behind Maat, in the tent, lamps burn, eating up the oil as if it were the faraway memory of summer sunshine, and shed their wan, yellow light into the bleakly overcast day that only accentuates the morbidity of the situation in the refugee camp. Maat is silent for a long moment and the only sound that can be heard is the creak of the dead-cart's wheels as it continues north. Then, the silence is broken by a wail several tents over, signalling that yet another Empyrean has lost the battle with the epidemic. Maat nods to Faanshi's offer. "I would not wish to anger your mistress, but any aid would be helpful in this time of need." Her voice is grim as she states, "You are, at best, untrained, and thus I had hoped to have you assist the Delphic Healers. If you do as they say, then your abilities will be used to their fullest." A bit of warmth creeps into her tone as she encourages, "As long as you are under the protection of the Amir-al, they cannot force you to join their society. I hope that you will not be tempted by the licentious freedom that they are sure to offer." Delphi. Faanshi hasn't forgotten the Atlantean mage who'd encountered her in the streets... nor his words to her. The possibility that she might have to actually work with healers of Delphi strikes a chord of nervousness in her young heart... but she swallows hard, clasping the name of Khalid Atar to her heart. "I am the Most High's humble handmaiden," she murmurs huskily, bowing her head. "But... please, imphada... if there are h-healers here who can guide me, take me to them, quickly, I beg you..." Faanshi looks up again, uncharacteristically straight, her gaze slightly distant and dark. Her magic swirls again, rousing and edgy, and her shoulders shake a little. _If I do not get help soon I will -have- to touch them..._ Maat turns and indicates with her chin that Faanshi should follow her. "I am going toward the clinic at the moment." As if noting Faanshi's shaking, the woman says, "We should walk quickly. It is cold outside and the sooner this food reaches the sick who are standing in line, the better it shall be." Yet, whether her pace is brisk due to concern for the Empyreans or worry that Faanshi might explode if they dawdle is vague and uncertain. "Yes, imphada," is Faanshi's only murmur. Kosha whines in his throat but falls into step at her heel, scampering along on his big paws to keep up with her. As the maiden follows the taller, older woman, her eyes grow strained around the edges; she has to force herself to keep her attention on the route she must take. Maat knows the way along the dirt lanes and with the lack of traffic, she manages to reach the back of the lines of people waiting to see the healers in short notice. The lines stretch away from the open space before the clinic, past the hole in the ground leftover from the shaping of the stone walls and now filled with frozen water, and into the spaces between the tents. Hungry eyes, feverish and pained, gaze at Maat's burden and she begins to hand out the loaves even as she says to Faanshi, "If you head up to the front of the lines, there are healers in the stone building." So many people. As she follows Maat on her errand of bread distribution, heading for that stone building where the Delphi healers are apparently housed, the maiden begins to quietly tremble beneath her sari. This is different than the battle she witnessed on the road to Arcillium -- where Mongrel men and women were shot down by bandit arrows, where blows were taken and given by weapons of war and the pain of rent flesh reached down within her and pulled forth her magic with so much sudden fury that she did not know until afterwards who had received the touch of her hands. Here and now, as she beholds ailing men and women... Empyreans and Mongrels, mostly... her magic builds within her until it is a leaden, oppressive weight. Each time she meets the gaze of an ailing refugee, her breath hitches. She does her best to keep pace with the Imphada Shakir and to keep Kosha near her, but at last, she can wait no longer. As she finds a young Empyrean male with tousled fair hair and overbright, febrile green eyes -- who reminds her unaccountably of the warrior she'd met, the one with the odd name, Craft -- she turns with a little gasp to her voice, reaching out trembling golden hands. "Please," she breathes hoarsely, "i-if you will permit me to try to help you...?" Maat cannot cease in her dispensing of bread as the hungry hands reach out grasping, the constant drain of the ague coupled with the cold having made ordinary food less than an adequate source of nourishment. She can only keep a corner of her eye on Faanshi and thus, she does not notice the shudra stopping rather than continuing in the direction of clinic. Yet, the sick do notice and a few stop mobbing Maat in order to attack Faanshi with their requests. "No, help me," says a woman, holding a baby that is so ill that it can no longer cry, but only lays limply on her shoulder. A man pushes the woman aside, not caring that she is of the weaker sex. "No, me." Other cries come from those standing about Faanshi, a few taking a break from stuffing stale bread into their mouths to cry out, "Me! Me!" In the mass of people that now blocks Maat's view of Faanshi, the Empyrean male with hot green eyes looks hopefully at Faanshi and manages to croak out, "Yes," from a throat hoarse from coughing. Obviously, he does not care where healing comes from, as long as it comes. Shadows flit over the ground as curious city-dwelling Empyreans fly over, catching a peek at the unusual sights below. So many... oh, merciful Ushas, so many! The sudden swell of attention in her direction catches Faanshi off-guard -- and alerts the young dog. Kosha barks his irritation as the ailing men and women begin to converge upon her, but by now, Faanshi's magic is beginning to override any desires of her loyal half-grown guard dog. Fire is the first thing she can think of, as her power begins to singe her palms, insisting that she make contact with the illness it can sense all around her. Her hands on the shoulder of that coughing fair-haired Empyrean man, and all at once, her healing swells forth into him. Fire. She can feel the fire in his head, the sickness in his chest, and it's all Faanshi can do to try to take rein of her fractious magic. _Remember healing Thomas!_ a more rational corner of her mind cries, and so she steels herself to guide the flow of her power. To let the Empyrean breathe. To cool the fire in his brow. To soothe his body so that he can sleep and regain vital strength. The crowd has a sense of desperation about it and eventhough it is obvious that Faanshi is focusing on a single man, they continue to shout for her attention, growing more rambunctious rather than less. Those who cannot reach Faanshi instead turn their attention to Maat and grab sustenance. Her loaves are soon gone and she can turn her attention to the mob that has now formed about Faanshi. "Stop!" she calls out, but the word is swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Bliss! The fair-haired young Empyrean soaks in the touch of the shudra maiden's hands, and his eyes grow clearer after several long seconds of her contact, his breath beginning to ease. Then the belligerent man who'd pushed aside the lady with the limp baby grabs at one of Faanshi's hands -- and her power lashes around into him. Her concentration disrupted, the girl momentarily loses her grip on her magic; the power that had flowed into the first man in a more or less controlled soothing river deluges this second brash individual. He gasps, staggers, and goes to one knee before her as the fire of the sickness he's been wrestling is abruptly swallowed by the greater fire of Faanshi's healing. In seconds she's turned blindly away, unaware that the man is now looking as shaken as though he's been hit across the head with a club -- but he's no longer ill. Kosha, snarling, tries to edge his way in through this growing press of people. He knows not to bite -- but that's _his_ girl they're crowding around! More hands reach out to Faanshi, touching the edges of her clothing as the crowd grows bolder. The woman who was pushed aside shoves her baby into Faanshi's face and from the scent of soiled diaper in conjunction with the limp nature of the child, it can be discerned that the baby is too sick to care about his physical state. Maat is completely unable to reach Faanshi as the crowd grows thicker as the cries of "Help me!" are joined with "A healer, a healer!" She battles through the crowd and her superior height aides her, but her progess is slow and every second, the crowd looses even more of the faint veneer of civilization and journeys deeper into the animalistic. It's the smell of the poor soiled infant that next seizes Faanshi's attention -- and that of her magic. Her green eyes barely register the tiny creature's presence, but her hands curl round it... and hold. The aether flows. In a few seconds the pitiful youngling manages to find the voice to utter a fretful cry as the magic hauls it out of lethargy and into a state where it can't breathe well, its head is so hot, and everything hurts! For a few more precious seconds Faanshi tries to keep contact with the tiny body before someone else tries to nudge the desperate mother aside. _Keep aware! Keep awake!_ Faanshi cries to herself. A tiny portion of her reason batters through her mind, trying to maintain control. But there are so many and they are so ill.... Kosha, then, is whapped aside by someone's wing... and kicked before he can get to his feet. Dazed, the dog lies stunned there for a moment before half-scampering, half-wriggling out of the way. The rowdiness of the crowd increases, the attention of the Hounds and a clan Khalida guard is drawn. The Hounds push people away, establishing some order at the outer perimeter of the circle of refugees which has collected around Faanshi, but those closest to the halfbreed are still battling for her attention and hands begin to touch her, hair, shoulders, any piece they can reach. Reverting to reaction rather than thought, the Empyreans seem to feel that if they can touch Faanshi, then they too will be healed. Shoving Empyreans out of the way and calling for order, Maat manages to move some people out of the mob that seeks to claw and touch Faanshi. Those pushed aside return to the line, hoping that the disturbance has created enough of a gap that the line has shortened to some extent, though this is a false hope in most circumstances. FallingStar appears along one of the tent city's wide lanes. FallingStar has arrived. So many hands tugging at her at once begins to send ripples of panic through the halfbreed shudra maiden. Surrounded by several desperate, determined people -- and it's a bit tough to see her now that at least two pairs of Empyrean wings are blocking the view of her -- Faanshi feels stirrings of near-claustrophobia slashing across the explosion of power now bursting out of her. Her control wavers; her senses, sight and sound and hearing and smell, begin to give way as her world narrows itself down to finding the fevered brows and burning their fires out of them. One person faints away as soon as her hands leave him -- though his breathing has grown noticeably easier. A compatriot drags him out of the way just in time before the poor fellow is trampled. Near the end of the long lines that stretch away from the Delphic healing clinic, a near riot as erupted as people crowd about a halfbreed dressed in the colors of Clan Khalida and scream, "Help Me! Help Me!" at the poor girl. A pair of Hounds and a guard wearing Khalida colors continues to establish order at the fringes of the crowd, but the horde that surrounds Faanshi does not pause in their frenzied grasping of the girl. In the middle of the crowd, a tall woman, cloaked and veiled in Varati fashion fights down the crowd, also attempting to produce order, yet her efforts might be in vain as with each healing action, more people reach a hand out to Faanshi and their cries redouble. In this din, Maat attempts to gain Faanshi's attention by calling out, "To the clinic! Faanshi Khalida, stop! Go to the clinic!" Looking slightly harried and decidedly out of breath, FallingStar finds herself close enough to the minor riot and practically skids to a halt. She takes only about half a second to take in the sights there, then draws in a deep breath and concentrates, eyes squeezing closed for a moment, then opening and staring intensely at the one mostly hidden by the crowd, hands clenching tightly at her sides. All her will goes into confining that flare of power, damping it down as best as she can. A small, skinny Sylvan girl with tanned skin, in a Delphic kaftan, who was just tending to an Empyrean at the edge of dying, gets up and tries to force her way through to Faanshi. Her dark skin looks seriously paled and worried at this display of uncontrolled power and she speaks with calm, subtle assertance to the people grabbing the poor halfbreed, "Let me get through and let go of her. I'll take care of her." Stop? One might as well tell a river to start flowing in the opposite direction -- but then again, that's almost exactly what FallingStar is now trying to do. As the will of the arriving mage rolls across her own, Faanshi's magic bucks like a half-wild horse, sputtering fretfully through the frantic Empyrean woman who had just managed to seize one of her hands. Abruptly feeling as though she'd tried to catch hold of a tiny bolt of lightning, the winged woman staggers backwards and nearly flops down on her own wings -- and another woman who'd tried to press up behind her. Then, the lightning sputters again -- and begins to subside under FallingStar's efforts. No longer braced up by her own power, Faanshi sinks to her knees, but this doesn't seem to deter the two foremost Empyreans who are still frantically tugging at her clothing. Her sari comes loose from her head, revealing a thick mass of wavy black hair tightly bound up into a braid. Maat spies a Delphic kaftan moving toward Faanshi and she ceases in her efforts to gain Faanshi's attention. Instead, she leaves the shudra to those who understand her power and focuses on calming the crowd and reintroducing order. Perhaps the woman should pay more attention to a member of Clan Khalida, but with hunger, cold and sickness, a million items grasp at the Shakir, all needing to be attended immediately. Thus, for better or worse, she leaves the shudra to the care of Delphi and goes to assist the Hounds. As the crowd farthest away from Faanshi returns to a resting state, it can be seen that the calm voice of the Sylvan girl, the militant orders of the Hounds and Maat plus the ominous presence of the Clan Khalida guard are having a salutatory effect. Much like riding aforementioned half-wild horse, the magical effort to hold some control over the halfbreed's powers exerts a distinctly physical toll on the Sylvan, standing over there. FallingStar starts to approach, taking each step with a very deliberate movement, afraid to tip the balance of her concentration and lose what she's holding in place there. Little by little, she approaches, hardly even noticing the arrival of the Delphi-types and the like. TenderHands, as small as she is, manages to stare down the desperate Empyreans around the halfbreed with a glare of willful determination. "Move out of the way, please." As softly and politely as the command is issued, it's still a command, and it is being followed. As she reaches the other healer, she goes down on her knees besides her, reaching around her to hold her close. "Let go of your magic", she whispers gently. "Empty your mind and think about nothing. Just. Let. Go." TenderHands catches the gaze of one of the Hounds and tells him in a much firmer voice, "Esper, please come over here. This healer is out of control. I don't know if I can manage to contain her outburst any longer." The young, lean man looks a bit helpless and confused at the chaos here, but follows the order, to stand right beind the Delphic healer. Between the arrival of TenderHands and that big fellow in Clan Khalida colors, the innermost knot of desperate refugees begins to break up. One last Empyrean still has hold of Faanshi, though. He'd be a handsome fellow if his face were not etched with lines of illness, his eyes far too hot and bright with fever; his brow is soaked with sweat, his wings drooping, his fair complexion nearly corpse-white. "Please help me, Domina," he moans in near-delirium, "pl... please help me..." But that big Khalida guard deftly reaches in around his wings and tugs at him, trying to break his contact with the halfbreed girl. Faanshi, already on her knees, stiffens abruptly as TenderHands' arms slide around her. That is the last thing needed to make her abruptly slump over in the tiny Sylvan's hold, her own tall slim frame crumpling as though her body had turned entirely boneless. Her veil has been tugged awry, her hair is spilling loose out of her sari, and sweat and strain etch her face, too. FallingStar drawns in a breath, then another, shoulders sagging with relief as she releases the 'hold' she's had over the halfbreed's magic. She moves forward a little more quickly then, hurrying toward that last Empyrean. "Wait, let me..." she offers, holding out a hand even before she's particularly close. TenderHands looks over to FallingStar seriously, while still hugging Faanshi closely. "Please take care of the Empyrean, before he slips away. I will have to take care of this rogue and get her into safety, before she overexerts herself totally." Her hands deftly rewrap the veils of Faanshi around her, speckling the drips of sweat with a way-too-overused, already sweaty towel. The Empyrean slumps in the hold of the dour-faced Khalida guard, who takes a moment to scowl with distaste down at the figure of the golden-skinned girl now more or less crumpled against TenderHands' breast. One might wonder whether the guard has a problem with an Empyrean slumped against _him_, but if he does, he's at least managing to keep his opinions unvocalized. The winged young man, in the meantime, turns hazed blue eyes on the Sylvan who draws near him and mumbles incoherently under his breath. It's easy enough to pull the collapsed healer's sari and veil back into place. Those small movements against her features, however, draw a tiny groan out of Faanshi. She can be heard to plaintively mumble, "I have to help them... please... I..." "Shhh. It's all right," FallingStar murmurs, gently resting one hand against the Empyrean's forehead. Her eyes grow distant, focusing somewhere beyond the man, and she addresses the Delphic healer in an equally distant voice. "I can tend to her. The rogue. I used to be Delphi. Adept." That somewhat choppy speech given, she returns her concentration full-force upon the fevered man. "The halfbreed belongs in Atesh-Gah," rumbles the Clan Khalida guard, his dark face crinkled in disapproval as he holds up the Empyrean for FallingStar's ministrations. "She is in the service of the Amir-al!" As FallingStar's fingers grace his brow, in the meantime, the Empyrean's handsome pale features abruptly relax in beatific wonder. A sigh of profound relief slips out of him. TenderHands whispers soothingly to the halfbreed in her arms, "Ssshhh. You need to rest. Let go of your concentration and focus." She picks up a half full bowl of water near, usually used to clean the wounds, to instil it into Faanshi's mouth. Then, she looks up to FallingStar, "Will you accompany her then to the Delphi? She's endangering herself if nobody takes care of her and teaches her some control." And in the midst of all this, Kosha wriggles his way through the lingering guards, whining plaintively, trying to reach his mistress. It is the sound of her puppy's call that makes Faanshi try to turn -- but the water is closer, and her body, depleted and drained, can barely stir. Something is wrong with this picture; no one wishes to teach her. This is known. What is this Sylvan stranger talking about? Let go? Focus? How can she do both? Her head begins to swim, her senses blurring out even Kosha's anxious whining. TenderHands meets the gaze of the guard, "Does the Atesh-Gah have any way of ensuring she will be all right, and will not suffer a breakdown again? Can you give her into the custody of the Atarvani?" "I can take care of her. And teach her." FallingStar absently smooths back the Empyrean's hair before pulling her hand back again, turning toward the halfbreed and the Delphic healer. "I've done it many times before." She crouches, then, reaching out a hand to brush fingertips lightly against Faanshi's shoulder. "Poor child." A flicker of consternation crosses the guard's black eyes; in the service of Clan Khalida as he himself is, this man has heard the rumors of the halfbreed girl that the dark-winged Hawk of Heaven claimed out of Clan Sarazen. He knows also that she has been in Atesh-Gah... and the Atarvani have been in Atesh-Gah... but trying to figure out why the two have not met is beyond the ken of a simple guardsman to fathom. He eyes the crumpled halfbreed narrowly, then finally disgruntledly pronounces, "I can return her to Atesh-Gah and her place among the shudra. If it is the will of the Khalid, the Atarvani will attend to her." In the meantime, as the Empyrean faints away, his body seizing the opportunity to drop him into a slumber more restful than he's had in weeks now that the sickness has been chased out of him, the guard beckons for one of the Hounds to take him away and get him into a bed. Faanshi, too, has fainted away, done in by the dual exertions of her magic flaring up around the throng of ailing refugees... and it drowning under the more controlled will of the Sylvan healer. Her puppy, however, squeezes in between TenderHands and FallingStar, whining piteously, trying to reach her veiled face. TenderHands pets the dog absent-mindedly, but doesn't let it past to the fainted healer. Her gaze moves up to Fallingstar, and she speaks quietly, "If she is of clan Khalida and the guards take her there, I think she'd be safe. However, I believe this should be noted to the Estrel, so once she returns here to Haven or its vicinity, it can be assured that her control of her magic is strong enough. For her own sake. What do you think?" "If she is of clan Khalida, then why has clan Khalida not provided the least bit of training for her?" FallingStar counters, tilting her head to one side a little as she regards the other Sylvan. "I would prefer to keep an eye on her myself, so that she gets at least some training. I've had experience with teaching the uncontrolled before. I can take her in hand." TenderHands settles Faanshi into a more comfortable sleeping position, tucking her into a blanket. For a few moments, she considers, before replying to FallingStar, "This is between you and her people, then. I believe that they can take care of her, now aware of her lack of control. However, the choice is yours." She purses her lips, "In case you will be watching over her, make sure to inform the Atesh-gah." That guard in Clan Khalida's blue, red, and gold -- the same hues, it might be noted, that the fallen veiled girl wears -- watches this discussion between the Sylvan women warily. From the look of him, he can't quite fathom why so much fuss is being made over a halfbreed, even if she _is_ a healer. "It is the shudra's own error if she has overstepped herself," he puts in dismissively. "Either I will convey her back to Atesh-Gah, or else put her into a guarded tent until the Imphada Shakir may be consulted. She was with the Imphada Shakir." His helmeted head turns to bob in the direction in which Maat has disappeared. Oh, great. Looking decidedly unhappy about both of the choices, FallingStar turns a scowl upon the guard who had spoken. "The tent, then," she decides. It's only her suggestion, naturally. Even though it does sound like an absolute decision. "I'm not leaving her alone until it can be decided where she is to go. The girl needs training, immediately." She pauses, then amends herself. "Although I don't think she should be going very far, just now - she's exhausted herself. She needs to rest." TenderHands looks down on the halfbreed lying before her, she states, "This settles the matter, then." She stands up, brushing some folds out of her kaftan, "Once I get back to the Citadel, I will inform the Estrella that she is momentarily rogue mage, dangerous for herself. Convey imphada Maat that, should you not find a way to help her, most likely, the Delphi will take care of her. And that it's in everybody's best interest that she should receive some teaching." With that, she half-turns, to give her attention to the other patients again. The guard might be a Varati, a warrior, and a nobleman -- and thus, inclined to look unpityingly upon a shudra halfbreed girl -- but he is not without intelligence, and not entirely without sympathy. He scowls down at Faanshi's crumpled form and then at the tiny Sylvan, as TenderHands proclaims her opinion on the matter. "We will put her into one of the guard tents, then," he rumbles. Stepping forward, he stoops down into an easy crouch, drawing the girl's blanketed form up into his arms. As he does, he glances back to FallingStar and goes on, "If the presence of the sick erases her control, she will be removed from them. We will guard her, and await the word of the Shakir." "I'm coming with her," FallingStar insists. "You may guard her from outside threats, but I don't think you can guard her from herself. I just don't want any further incidents." She glances briefly toward TenderHands, with the faintest hint of a frown, before returning her attention to the guard. "Do that", are the last words from TenderHands. "And remind her to get in touch with the Estrella, in case of doubt. They can advise her." With that, she heads off into the back of the tent, to attend to one of the many moaning Empyreans. TenderHands has her priorities; so does this guard, though his scowl remains on his dark visage and provides unspoken testimony to his opinion on his presence here. The scowl takes in Faanshi, her lingering and now desperately yapping puppy, and the remaining Sylvan healer. But at last, grudgingly, he concedes, "You may come to keep watch over her, while I inform the Shakir of the situation." [And thus, Faanshi is left in FallingStar's hands while the Varati guard relays word of what has occurred to Nefer Maat Al'Samar. To be continued...]