"Healing the Healer" Log Date: 9/11, 9/13, 9/15/00 Log Cast: Faanshi, Sunset Tide Log Intro: Weeks have gone by without success as Faanshi has ranged all over Haven, looking for some sign of any Sylvans who might know who violated the ritual of Invoking the Flame -- and blew mind-altering dust all over the worshippers that had gathered to honor the father of Khalid Atar. No Sylvan in the city seems to know who did such a deed, and if they do know, they aren't telling the anxious young woman in Varati garb who has so earnestly questioned them. Nor has she gotten more than carefully blank looks when asking after the rumors she has heard of a city-dwelling tribe of Sylvans; all her efforts to find who might be in charge of such a group of people have been in vain. And urgent though her search for the Sylvan ritual-breakers might be, desperate though she is to find some clue or scrap of information which she might bring back to Amipal Chandrima at Atesh_Gah, Faanshi has not had the heart to stop her activities of healing in the city. The brutal winter has assured that many of Haven's poor are suffering from frostbite along with hunger and a host of illnesses brought on by the bone-chilling cold. Not a day has gone by in which Faanshi has been able to avoid stopping to heal _someone_... and every so often she's still had to handle an occasional serious injury, like those suffered by the strange, feral-seeming Atlantean hunter she'd discovered lying crumpled and bleeding in an alley near the docks. Faanshi has not been able to let herself stop and rest for very long, and over the last few days in particular it's grown harder. She has not let herself think about the mounting rebellion her own body is waging against her, but on this particular pre-morning Faanshi's body is about to teach her that even powerful healers are not immune to illness if they push themselves too hard... and even powerful healers must, occasionally, rest. And fortunately for Faanshi, the demands of her overtaxed system are about to be bolstered up by an ally.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Night (Dawnside) Date on Aether: Tuesday, January 29, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: First Quarter Season: Winter Weather: Clouds Temperature: Cold *==========================================================================* Docks - Haven From fire, comes Rebirth. This is what can be seen here on the southernmost docks of Haven. Few signs remain of the great fire that destroyed many boats and recognizable features from the docks, instead facades of newness shroud the blackened remains. Surviving boats and newer vessels sway along the length of the docks, their sails rippling in each wind as a tribute to life that has gone on beyond this. Small stands are scattered irregularly along the path that leads back up to the town itself, peddlers luring the passersby that meander in for a taste of the Sea. Contents: Sunset Tide Amarada The West Wind The Raven's Wing The Memphis - Main Deck(#589JLVe$) Obvious exits: Western Bay Northern Docks Pre-morning... and Faanshi has barely wanted to haul herself out of her cot, much less consider taking the time to say her dawn prayers to Ushas or going out into the bitter cold to seek out the Sylvans of the city. There is a gritty ache behind her eyes that speaks of too little sleep, and her veil might almost be nonexistent for all the protection it gives her cheeks against the chill. But stumble out into the soon-to-be morning she does, nevertheless. She has been given a mission, which she has not yet fulfilled. An order from the Maharani is tantamount to an order from the Amir-al himself... and Faanshi has already failed the Amir-al once. She cannot bear the thought of failing His consort, especially not when someone's life might be at stake. That the Varati have been distracted by rebellion in the Clans is almost irrelevant to the shudra maiden; doggedly, exhaustedly, she plods through the snow-covered streets, looking for the handful of Sylvans she knows and questioning those she does not. No one appears to have any idea who was responsible for disrupting the ritual... and indeed, by now, it's old news. Most everyone she meets is far more concerned with complaining about the weather -- when they aren't speculating wildly over the strange northern invaders who created such carnage in the Rialto, or begging her to heal the damage their flesh has taken from the biting cold. Exhaustedly, she stumbles through the sleet down to the southwestern corner of the city, hoping that perhaps today's search will be more successful. Her dog lopes ever-loyal at her side, his big paws more assured upon the snow than her sandaled feet. It's a bit early in the morning for most folk to be out, let alone sailors who are in port after a night of being out and drinking and whoring heavily. However, the Sylvan sailor known as Sunset Tide is not one for whoring or drinking himself into stupor incredibly often. Traversing the cold docks in leather clothing, much like that of the more traditional Sylvan folk in the forests, the man steps carefully on leather mocasins and makes certain he isn't striding on an icy surface. Aqua colored eyes, sparkling like the sea on a warm summer day, watch ahead of him as well. Today his face is set into a fairly normal expression of disinterest and detachment. That is, until he sees the cold and shivering shudra maid nearby with the all too loving hound as the foil to her reserve and caution. Then, Tide's lips slip into a vague smile, familiar and thoughtful. The girl does not, apparently, see or hear the sailor coming; indeed, most if not all of Faanshi's attention appears to be on keeping herself in motion and on her feet. One sandaled foot plods, then the next, back and forth. Her course manages to remain true, though the traction of her sandals is an uncertain thing even on the well-trodden snow and slush. Not surprisingly, her gaze remains pointed down upon her feet. It falls to Kosha to swing an alert gaze this way and that, looking for anything that might be potentially harmful to his beloved young mistress. The feet, cloaked in well crafted leather and hide of some doe that has served him for some time now. Tide strides with fair nimbleness towards your path, moving in an intercept trajectory as his lips part to speak to you when he's just five or six yards away. "Hoy there, Refuge." comes his light, liquid tones spilling out in a wisp of steam-like breath along with teh words. The cold making his words visible as he cocks his head to the side to watch your progress, "Silly lass, what are ye thinkin' wearin' them clothes out 'ere in this cold?" he asks with a bright tone. Kosha wheels around at the hail from the Sylvan, ears perking up. A familiar voice! As the dog wanders over to affably sniff at the sailor, Faanshi visibly starts and almost slips in her effort to halt herself safely on a slick patch on the planks beneath her feet. Her head comes up, but a trifle unsteadily, and the green gaze that turns a moment later in the young Sylvan's direction is ever so slightly dazed. "Imphadi... Sunset Tide?" she says, voice rising on the name, almost as if she's not entirely certain. As the dog comes near a hand darts out to one of the long ears, fingers tug playfully at the object before they slip behind it and begin to scritch slowly and thoughtfully. "'ey Kosha." comes Tide's voice while he grins at the hound and then knits his brows, brown hair with a faintly green tint beneath, at the curious reaction he receives from teh shdura. "Are... ye alright, lass?" he says in a somewhat more worried tone of voice. Faanshi finally does catch herself, having learned from hard practice at least something of how to keep her balance on snow, even in her inadequate footwear. While her hound happily wags his tail at the skitching he receives, the maiden herself peers over at Sunset Tide, her brow slightly furrowed beneath the edge of her scarlet sari. "I am... adequate," she murmurs faintly, the words coming out of her a little rote, reflexive. "Y-you are healthy, Imphadi?" "Aye lass. 'm doing fine." the liquid, quicksilver voice says to you in response as he offers a smile and leaves the dog's side to approach your placement again, growing nearer to you he offers out his hand to the shdura maiden, acting rather strangely as she is at the moment. Tide offers a bright smile from his lips, but it fades as you screw up your face behind the veils that you wear. It turns to a frown at your awkward manner of movement and he looks down at your feet, which poke forth now and again, "Ye can nae go wearin' those 'bout inna snow, lass. Ye'll catch yuir death like that, healin' or nae." he chides you thoughtfully as he watches you. Faanshi peers with an almost owlish gaze at the proffered hand; both of her own have wrapped themselves around her slight frame, bringing the basket hooked over her elbow close in against her side as well as what minimal warmth her limbs can provide to her front. Her gaze drops downward towards her sandals and the strips of cloth she has wrapped about her feet, and she murmurs bemusedly, "They are... what I have, Imphadi..." Kosha, as if hoping their stop might mean he's about to be skitched, attempts to thrust his furry nose into Faanshi's other side. After a moment of watching you and the manner you act in the slightly small Sylvan cocks his head to the side in a vaguely owlish manner of his own, bird-like and watchful. "Somethings wrong with ye, lass." he says to you in a thoughtful manner, his thin lips eventually turning to a frown as he lowers his eyebrows to nearly touch one another again. His hand moves forward slowly after prying off the leather glove that it was once encased in. His intent is to touch your forehead with his bare fingers, checking for a temperature. "Are ye ill? I thought ye healer did nae get sick 'cause yuir magic kept healin' ye and makin' sure those sorta things never got a good solid hold," he says in a vaguely worried tone of voice. Kosha, bemused by the behavior of the sailor reaching for his mistress, pauses and yurfs unsurely, though his ears are still perked up alertly. Faanshi seems even more bemused than the dog, reeling back ever so slightly from but not resisting the fingertips that reach for her brow. It _is_ a trifle overwarm, and moreover, her eyes are hollowed about the edges, sungolden skin darker than it should be. "My... magic... sustains me, yes," she begins in a distant tone. "I am... all right..." She has to be all right. There is no other option. "Y-you are kind to inquire..." His flesh, callous and warm touches your forehead for just a moment as he considers and then frowns ever so slightly at your reaction. "Yuir burnin' up, lass. Nae only that but I'm surprised ye can stand up gi'en how yuir eyes look." Tide says to her with a sureness and clarity to his tone that he is actually, for a moment, deathly serious about what he speaks of. "We ha'e to get ye outta this cold'r yuir gonna get yuirself killed. Come with me lass'n yuir dog too. Ye can stay at my place for a few days. I don't think yuir goin' to sit still 'less somebody watches o'er ye night'n day." he says to you in a firm voice, hand moving back as the glove is replaced. The maiden hears the words spoken, but for a few moments they make absolutely no sense to her, the sailor's accent slurring them together in her hearing. And then her brow crinkles further as comprehension finally dawns, alarm coming into her half-glazed eyes. "Stay... a few days? Imphadi, I-I cannot... I will be missed... my mistress will wonder w-w-where I have gone..." Even as she utters that disclaimer, though, the maiden trails off miserably, not certain of the truth of her own words. Thalia Tritonides Khalida has more than enough to deal with without being particularly concerned about the whereabouts of one humble halfbreed. _Would_ the Queen Maharani care where she is? "Aye, p'rhaps ye would... but that's a chance I'm willin' to take. I'm nae all that 'cited to be headed into Atesh-Gah, ye know. So, I gues I could walk ye back, but I do nae think ye'd sit still e'en if I got ye there." Sunset Tide rpelies to you with a frown creasing his usually smiling lips, an unusual look on his face to say the least. His aqua eyes look at you seriously as he looks down at Kosha, "Yuir dog wants ye to rest, ye know. He'd nae ha'e nae one inna world if ye toppled o'er dead from th' fevers." the man says to you in a serious and sad sounding voice, "N'I hardly got the chance to get to know ye, that's somethin' to miss." he says in a manner that he hopes is convincing. Kosha, as if somehow managing to sense that he has entered this conversation, gives a single plaintive wag of his tail and looks soulfully up at the Sylvan and the halfbreed -- the latter in particular. Faanshi blinks several times, too rapidly, down at the dog... and her resolve wavers. Feverish? How can she be feverish? The concept sounds ridiculous to her... and yet, she is so very _tired_, and she hasn't slept at all well lately. Even as she admits this to herself a dozen reasons why she cannot permit herself the luxury of a few days of rest surge across her consciousness, and she brings up an almost frightened stare to the sailor now regarding her so anxiously. "I-I can't," she mumbles, but there is no strength in her voice. Still shivering under her sari, she hugs herself all the more tightly, entirely unaware of the lost look of exhaustion in what little is visible of her face. Moving his hand out to touch one of your own, "Faanshi. Ye may nae be able to do it... but ye need to. If ye do nae, yuir goin' to die lass." Sunset Tide says to you in an honest manner, his hand giving yours a little tug if you allow him to take it from you for the moment, "Please, lass, come with me. I'll nae hurt ye. I'll just gi'e ye a warm bed, a warm room and some warm stew for a few days while yuir away from e'erythin' causin' yuir pretty head to hurt. Rest is a must, e'en for healers. Elsewise they leave orphaned pups and lonely friends by their grave sides." he says, his voice miming tragedy with its flowing, liquid tones. As there had been no strength to her voice, neither is there much strength to the girl's hand, and so she does not resist as you take it up. A look of profound yearning comes across those big leaf-hued eyes of hers at the thought of warmth; the flowing words spoken to her and the concerned aquamarine gaze upon her are both deeply persuasive, but what seems to finally sway her is the repeated offer of simple warmth. She is so _tired_... and cold, to boot. In a very small voice she concedes, "Perhaps... I could just... if I could just sit down... for a little while..." Gently he tugs at your hand, "Careful where ye step lass." comes his warm, watery voice as he begins to pull you along with him. The pace he maintains is easy, his own eyes look before him, circling icy patches so that you have an easier time manuevering and lowering your chance of slipping and busting yourself up. "Aye, just a chance to sit yuirself down by a warm fire, maybe a nap..." he says encouraging your new attitude of cooperation. Voice gentle and sparkling in a liquid manner, taking on a brighter and healthier shade. Wait a minute... we're going somewhere else? Okay! Is there food involved? Kosha gamely starts trotting along with Sunset Tide, on the other side of the young shudra, and wagging his tail hopefully a few times. Between the dog's cheery-seeming mood and the careful encouragement of the sailor, Faanshi finds it astonishingly tempting, and astonishingly easy, to let herself be led along. "I cannot sleep long," she murmurs plaintively. "I haven't... fulfilled my mistress' command... I must still find the ones who violated the ritual..." Looking at the dog who seems to be his silent aide in his endeavor the strangely hued Sylvan sailor moves you along the wharves and piers of the docks towards his small apartment. It's not too long of a trip, thirty maybe forty minutes, but along the way Tide continues to speak in an encouraging and brilliant voice. "Aye, I'll wake ye after a couple'a hours." he says to you in a confirming manner as he steps lightly along the icy terrain with leatehr coated boots. "Yuir mistress will be happy that yuir ali'e'n well more'n she'll be with you succeeding in whate'er task she set for ye t'day." he says in an confident manner, "After all, a talented servant like ye can nae be wasted." She can trust you... can't she? The lilting, encouraging words fall like refreshing summer rain upon Faanshi's ears; it's not often that someone speaks in such a fashion to her. Even as she lets herself be guided along, though, she cannot help but point out earnestly, "I... am the least of the Amir-al's healers... Imphada Tha--I-I mean, my mistress... will not miss my services, but..." Chuckling lightly, taking some of his usual humor with his voice, the smallish Sylvan man replies in a whimsical manner that doesn't press the point, "Then the Amir-al'r whoever must ha'e hisself some pretty damn good 'ealers!" the sialor chiems back at you with his eyes flickering over to you as he holds on to your hand, guiding you across another wharf. Some folk have come onto the street in this miserable excuse for a morning, most take note of the start couple that inhabits the street but not enough to become interested. "We're almost there, lass. Soon we'll get ye some warm broth'n a blanket to hide yuirself under for a while." Tide speaks to you in a merry fashion. Faanshi's not a short woman -- but still, there is a certain delicacy to her frame and her limbs... and her hand. There isn't an ounce of extraneous flesh there, and seemingly barely enough muscle to hold her fragile bones together beneath her skin. Paradoxically, perhaps that hand of hers has strength, at least normally, for she does grip the fingers enfolding her own... though her fingers subtly quiver at the same time, as if the effort of making even a small grip is taxing to her. Trudging along between her self-elected rescuer and her loyal hound, the girl stares unseeingly down at the wharf upon which she treads and seems to trust, childlike, that she will be led to a place of safety. "The Atarvani healers are great indeed," she murmurs in absent tones. And after a moment, she appends in bemused self-realization, "But I... I do not feel hungry..." Nodding his head at your words, affirming whatever you say though he couldn't verify a word of it if his very life depended on it. "I'm sure they're great healers indeed." and, mostly, great fire casters. He's sure of that based on stories told in inn rooms around the world about Atarvani and their conceopt of battle. A building, decent sized but somewhat old looking looms a bit ahead. It appears to be stable and fairly maintained, though a far cry from the posh surroundings you actually call home right now. "Then s'just a blanket for ye then." Tide's voice sends it charming, musical tone to you. As if prompted by the thought of a blanket, Faanshi feels a shudder course up and down through her frame. It's even enough to make her lift her gaze for once, eyes liquid and longing, towards the building to which she is being guided. The halfbreed girl keeps moving, once the goal is in sight, and it might almost seem as if she might walk right into the door of the place, her feet's motion carrying her forward without conscious control from her brain. She somehow manages not to collide with the door, catching herself just in time to prevent bumping her veiled nose, but the effort makes her abruptly reel backwards. Seeing this, Kosha whines from just behind her, nudging at the backs of her legs. The Sylvan sailor boy reacts with relative quickness to your precarious carriage and moves his arms out to capture your shoulders with long, thin fingered hands. Holding your steady, very carefully he looks at you, "Careful lass, that's a shudra eattin' door. If ye do nae want to get yuirself 'urt ye'll stay with me 'ere or the thing'll bonk ye hard." Tide says in a sparkling voice as he jests to you and opens the front door to his little hostel and walks you in front of him, "Come on Kosha, ye can come too. Just watch where ye lea'e yuir droppin's." he says in a chiding manner, as though the hound understands him. Soon, you enter the 'lobby' and are led towards teh stairs, immediately it is somewhat warmer. At least, humanely warm now instead of bitingly cold. Warmth. Blessed Mother! Faanshi begins to tremble noticeably at the simple act of coming in out of the chill; it is almost a painful relief, so tautly had she been braced against the temperature. Now, the comparative heat inside this place seems to her to only fuel the heat in her flesh, and her surroundings waver around the edges of her sight as she stumbles to and up the stairs. The dog brings up the rear, his paws clacking upon the steps as he goes, and it is that sound that provokes Faanshi's only comment as she pronounces earnestly to her savior, "Kosha w-w-will scratch th-the door... if he needs to g-go out..." And she shivers, all the way up the stairs. Considering this for a moment his speech pauses, though his steps and his movements do not in any manner stagger. Divided attention seems to come with climbing the rigging and such-like on board a ship. "That's good, I'll make sure he gets some nice cold snow to wet 'is tail when 'e needs to go'n do whate'er a dog'd call it." the man says to you in a teasing manner, one hand now rubbing back and forth on your shoulder. Soon, on about the eightieth floor, or so it may seem to an ill shudra, the Sylvan open a door with a simple looking key. "Come on, lass. In ye go'n a fire I'll start in just a few minutes. After we get some blanket on yuir sari covered self." Wordlessly, Faanshi stumbles up and up and up the stairs; wordlessly, she waits while the door is opened and she is ushered through it. She hugs her basket to her chest almost desperately close, and her shoulders quiver under the Sylvan's hand as violently as her hand had done at his contact. The back of her mind stirs uneasily at the familiarity... but she is so tired. So cold. And thus the only service she can do to the dictates of her upbringing and her own nature is to rivet her attention to the floor, dully hoping that you will point her in the direction of somewhere reasonably comfortable. So that she may sit down... just for a moment or two. "Yes, I-Imphadi," she mumbles, the rote response spilling out of her when she fails to come up with anything more coherent to put into words. "Tide, lass, Tide." the Sylvan reminds you of his wish to be named by his familiar term rather than your people's title of respect and honoring. His hans guide you without pushing too far into any personal boundries, towards the bed that he has. Really the only cushioned thing in his room, though he has a solitary other seat across the room. There he moves as though to get your body to lay down, his hand moving to your arm to tug it away from the basket you cling to so deperately. "'ere. I'll set this aside so ye can cover up proper." he says as he lifts up a pair of scanty blankets which he uses to cover his bed at night when he's sleeping. Better than a linen sari and silwar, that's for sure. Faanshi sinks down onto the bed as though her legs have turned to water, and it is no effort at all to take the wicker basket of herbs wrapped up securely against the cold out of her arms. Nor is it difficult to guide her into lying down. Indeed, all of these things seem to be easier than getting Faanshi to call a man by his given name... or looking him in the eye. While Kosha thrusts himself right up against the edge of the bed, studying his beloved young healer with soulful canine eyes, the maiden curls up sideways into a small ball. "Y-yes Imph... I mean... Tide," comes the weak whisper from somewhere behind her veil, while her eyes unfocus and threaten to drop shut. The blankets drop over yoru sari clad form and, he decides, for the moment he'll leacve the veils on as well because he think you might take offense if he removed one without permission. Let her go to sleep, Tide figures, as he goes to fetch a clothe and begins to build a small fire in his miniature hearth to heat the room, "S'better lass." he says in an encouraging, bright fashion from his laughing quicksilver voice. His hands work quickly to kindle the flame and warm the water, dipping the cloteh repeatedly, wringing it out and then dipping it again until the water is warm and the clothe merely damp. He moves back towards you and moves it to your forhead. "'ere ya go, keep the chill down a bit better." he says hopefully. Your only audience to these actions is Kosha now, for Faanshi's eyes have drifted closed, long dark lashes making crescents against cheekbones that even through her silken veil can be seen to stand out too sharply. The heat of fever quickly replaces the fleeting chill that the cold outside had lain across her skin... and her skin seems off-hue, gray beneath the sungolden complexion her intermingled blood has given her. "Can't... sleep long," she murmurs, but so softly it might as well have been to herself. [And later...] It's been hours, the room has long since warmed to a comfortable temperature as it battles the harsh winter from outsuide. Luckily, with Tide's wood shaping he has managed to do an admirable job sealing minute cracks and fissues in the walls and floor. Long since the Sylvan has napped himself, hand idly scratching between teh ears of the large hound that stares at your still form. Occasionally he would wake and change the clothe to get some sweat from your brow. Now and again, bootsteps can be heard in the hall but no one every knocks or bothers the small room. The hours pass quietly as the sailor Sylvan does the best he can top make you comfortable. Hours have crawled by, taking the day well towards afternoon; through time's passage, Faanshi's rest has been troubled at best. The maiden does not lie still beneath the blankets that have been placed over her, one sandaled foot kicking out from underneath them while she rolls onto her back, her overheated body beginning to protest the combined warmth of the blankets and the room no matter how much it actually needs that warmth. And aye, sweat beads her sungolden brow, but it comes out only grudgingly, the fever not yet convinced that it ought to allow its victim to be cooled down. Some of its heat seems to leak into her dreams as well, for she periodically makes tiny noises of distress, delicate black brows knitting together in dismay she never allows into her spoken words or the stance she must adopt before those she serves. Even now she never actually calls out in her slumber. But as the morning slides into noon Faanshi grows more fitful upon the bed, head tossing back and forth and threatening to dislodge the top of her already crumpled sari. Her agitation draws a plaintive whine out of Kosha as well, one of the first noises the hound has made in his vigil. He has lain down at the side of the bed, gazing up dolefully at the ailing girl, ears drooping. As you begin to toss more fitfully the small fellow sits up slowly and makes a vague groaning noise of his own and watches for a moment before frowning. Tide reaches forth to touch your shoulder and shakes very lightly, "Faanshi, wake up lass. S'wrong with ye?" the man asks, dabbing at your golden brown flesh with the warm clothe for a moment more. "Wake up, lass." he tries once mroe in his liquid voice, perhaps sensing some of the hounds similar misgivings about the happenings of your bedside at the moment. He looks at the basket you carry and purses his lips murely, the thing is loaded with healing stuff but he has no clue about the first thing. The cloth across her brow had been knocked aside, and in moments the top of her sari follows its example, sliding back off the top of her head as she abruptly and unsteadily tries to sit bolt upright. Coal-black hair pulled back from her face into a starkly simple braid is thusly revealed to the light of the room, as well as the chain that holds her veil more or less in place, which circles back around the side of her head past ears that at first glance seem... wrong, somehow. Over her veil, Faanshi's eyes have gone wide and wild. "Don't go--" she blurts out in hoarse and desolate tones, shivering in the grip of dream and fever. "I'm nae goin' nae where lass." Tide says quickly in a soothing, voice he rises from the seat which he had forged near your bed, moving to half sit on the bed beside you the Sylvan man instictively moves to brush your dark hair with a hand. "Lay back down lass, yuir havin' some sort'a bad dream, ye ha'e some sort'a fever that's eattin' ye up and it's runnin' its course. I'm trying to burn it outta ya as fast as I think's safe." he says in an affirming manner, voice gentle. "Please, lay down." he says to you worriedly. Kosha pulls himself up from where he'd lain upon the floor, sniffing hopefully at Faanshi, trying to wedge his muzzle in between her and the Sylvan who's sat himself down beside the maiden. The maiden herself starts violently at even the light contact of a hand upon her hair, her own fumbling upwards, fingertips brushing against one of those somehow-wrong ears; another of those distressed little whimpers escapes her as she seems to realize the state of dishevelment into which she's putting her clothes, and what's being revealed by it. Panic rises in her eyes... but evidently she has more than one reason to panic, for what the halfbreed girl cries out is, "I-I don't want to lie down...! I don't want to dream anymore...!" His hand is gentle as it stroke your hair, rarely seen locks by man nor beast, he says to you and offers you a simple smile from his easy to smile lips. "Aye, then lay back down 'n stay awake... I'll sit with ye here." Tide says in a manner of assurance, one hand moving to a shoulder to ease you back down, "Nae dreams'll come if ye stay 'wake'n talk to me'r whatever ye want." he says as he lifts the clothe up and touches it against your foreheasd and temple, dabbing gently at your skin. He doesn't pay much mind to the strangely off ears that you have, "Yuir quite sick, I do nae know why... but ye are. So, I took ye here to sleep in some place warm, them clothes are nae helpin' ye." Easily overlooked are the girl's ears, indeed... too small by half, one of them not the same size as the other. Whatever the cause of their malformed shape, it's readily dismissable compared to the fright in Faanshi's eyes, enormous and glassy and overbright above her silken veil. Her body's reactions seem to contradict one another as well, at once yielding to the twin comforts of the stroking to her hair and the blessed coolness of the cloth against her brow... and jolting as a new surge of panic shoots through her. You are a man. You are touching her, and even if she is ill (Ushas, she is so _hot_...!) she is alone with you. And what are you saying about her clothes? Faanshi struggles to comprehend this even as she crumples backwards. "Not... helping? M-my clothes?" "Aye, they're so bloody light that they let all the cold in on ye and make ye sick. Ye need to get yuirself some good wool clothes to wear, that'll make a world'a difference." Tide says as he continues to sit still, petting your hair gently as Kosha pokes his head over the brim of the bed to watch the both of you. Dabbing continually at your forehead he watches you quietly after having had his say. He thinks nothing odd of the situation, but then his native culture encourages nudity and promiscuity so this is quite tame by comparison to their usual randomness. Little loose strands of wavy black tease the very top of Faanshi's brow, coaxed away by the dabbing cloth; only half-aware that her state of dishabille must be shocking, the girl reaches up once for her forehead, thinking that she must set her sari to rights. But as her fingertips register the warmth in her own forehead, she frowns to herself and lowers her hand down again. "Perhaps," she mumbles, "I could ask the khansamah f-for wool clothing... cheaper than silk... but I must wear the Clan colors, I-I am bidden..." Her head turns unconsciously to follow that cloth, and her green eyes focus with great uncertainty upon the face of her rescuer. "Hell, lass, ye can get dye for yuir clothes. They can dye wool as well as they can dye silks and linens." the sailor says to to you with a lightly chuckle as he reaches down to your hand and touches it lightly with his own for a few moments, his hand is rough and leathery. After a few seconds he smiles easily from his lips and slowly shrugs his shoulders upwards, "Would ye like some water, lass?" he asks as he motions towards the small pitcher near the table. "I had some fresh water fetched for ye when ye woke'n I got some oats'n meal for ye to eat. Nae butter though, sorry." Water. That actually seems to spark a glimmer of something like comprehension in the halfbreed girl's eyes, and for a moment Faanshi tries to sit up again -- before sinking back and settling for turning her head in search of her basket. "Tea," she murmurs faintly. "If I cannot heal myself... tea, I should have tea. I have herbs..." Lifting up your basket, which he'd placed upon the floor near the bed, he sets it down next to you. "I got yuir basket here, show which'n's to use lass'n I can boil ye some tea." Tide says to you in an encouraging tone of voice as he moves to the table while you sort through them to sit a tiny kettle on a hang-down over the fire. "Aye, I'll do what I can for ye lass. I'm nae great healer ye know, but I'll do what I can." he chuckles lightly. "Feverfew," Faanshi whispers, sorting through the basket as carefully as she can and frowning behind her veil at the shaking of her hands. But she succeeds nevertheless in finding a small pouch with the herb in question, along with another at which she sniffs before choosing it as well. "Chamomile... that should help..." She tries to roll over, to set the basket down, only to find Kosha waiting diligently with his nose poked up over the edge of the bed. With her two little pouches in one hand, she reaches her other up to scritch the dog's ears. In a tiny, embarrassed voice, she appends, "I am sorry to be a-a burden to you..." As the kettle is filled up with water the man balances it carefully and then nods his head a little in an affirming manner, to himself mostrly. His brown hair, with the vague veins of green trickling through the hair beneath the surface. Tide moves back to the bedside on wisping, nearly silent feet that are coated in the soft doe-skin leather, "S'nae burden lass, I promise. Though, me bed could be bigger so I did nae ha'e to sleep in the chair b'side ye." his voice is spirited and jestful, oft hat there could be no mistaking. His hand move out to take the pouches with one set of careful fingers, "How much ought I use for it lass?" he questions as he judges the weight of the pouches by bouncing them lightly. His aqua eyes sparkling just a little as the light from outside the window catches them while he looks down on you. Faanshi makes a small, choked noise at those words about the bed, her gaze ducking swiftly away as heat that has nothing to do with her fever shoots across her cheeks. "I..." That's all she manages to say, as she rivets her attention upon her dog rather than upon the wry-eyed Sylvan returning to her side. It takes her a few moments before she manages to mumble, holding out the little pouches in her unsteady hand, "Two l-large pinches of the feverfew... smaller pouch... one of the chamomile..." He takes the pouches and makes his way to the pot, quickly heating but not too hot just yet. Plucking fingers at the draw strings he reaches in thin, nimble tips and plucks out a few pinches and drops them into the barely bubbling water. "ye what, lass? Speak yuir mind. I'm nae one'a yuir bosses'n I do nae report to none'a them so ye need nae fear any sorta retribution." he says in a reasoning tone of voice as he dips it a finely shaped wooden spoon and begins to stir the contents of the warming kettle. Tide continues to be cheery and encouraging, almost unnaturally so... but that is the manner he lives in. Strange indeed it is to Faanshi to be given such encouragement... by a male, especially. Unable to keep from thinking of the last man to treat her such, she closes her eyes hard for a moment against an upswelling of tears. "I-I do not think... I would... th-that it would be proper..." As Kosha licks her fingers she pauses and opens her eyes again, staring tearily at the hound's nearby furry face. "Nae, I guess it would nae at that. Ne'er was one to do things the proper ways though. If'n I did ye would ha'e ne'er met me 'cause Sylvan folk, by'n large, tend to keep to their little forests and stay happy there." Tide says in the moist, liquid voice as he lifts the small kettle with a 'hooked' stick and sits it on his table to cool for just a few moments of time as he arranges a bowl-like cup in the shape of a leaf. Looking back around at you, "Why ye cryin' lass, somethin' hurtin' ye?" If anything, the suggestion of Sylvans living happily in the forest makes Faanshi cry a little harder. Kosha considers this, stopping his attention to her fingers, and then promptly tries to lick her face instead. With her veil in the way this isn't exactly easy, but the maiden might perhaps be either uninclined or unable to stop him. She bats feebly at the dog's nose while she cries, almost as soundlessly as her benefactor treads across the floor, and when she finally manages a reply, she sounds both miserable and highly confused. "Y-you are being _nice_ to me...!" Taking up the cup of wood the man moves on over to the bedside once more with a steaming, but not scalding, tea to offer the occupant and patient. "That I am." Tide says to you with a bit of confusion in his own voice as to why this would make some cry so. Easing himself down he moves one hand behind your shoulders and lifts a bit until he can sidle a thigh beneath your shoulders and then offers you the cup, "Ye like bein' abused?" he asks in a quirky, unknowing manner while his eyes shine with an absently misunderstanding. Kosha yurfs, dislodged from his face-licking attempts far more by your return to Faanshi's side than by her attempt to move him; disgruntledly, the big dog lies down again and watches the two humans from the floor. Faanshi, in the meantime, palpably starts as she's eased into your lap -- not only because of the familiar level of contact, but also because of the question. "No," she mumbles, trying not to sniffle. One hand slips around to your shoulders with the cup until the tip of the leaf touches your lips and he says, "Open your mouth to drink." and he tilts it just a little so one warm sip can make it into your mouth. Then he stills his hand and holds it back for a moment. Liquid voice coming to you once again, "That's good then, 'cause I sure do nae like 'urtin' people. 'sides, I'm nae very good at it. Just good at being nice'n tryin' to do right by goods folks." Tide explains to you as he proffers the small cup to you again. As those work-roughened hands slip under her veil, apparently unhindered by blue silk when it comes to finding her mouth, Faanshi stares up at you in obvious consternation. It is easy to obey the request to drink, with old habits pushing her to following the commands of a man, but the girl can sense even in her illness that this isn't exactly the same thing as being bidden to mop the floor by Atesh-Gah's chief servant. And besides... she asked for the tea herself. She does sip at it, pausing for breath, then sipping again. Her brow crinkles up at the taste of the herbs, but she makes no complaint against it. Only when she sinks back again, gaze sliding shyly sideways and away across the room as she wrestles with the concept of her head resting against your legs, does Faanshi answer you. "I... I-I am... not used to kindness, Imph..." And she catches herself, remembering finally that you had asked her not to address you with the Varati title. But your name comes out of her with profound shyness, as she finishes, "S-Sunset Tide." Moving his arm, after you've sipped down most of the tea but for a few trickles the Sylvan man dabs his sleeve's fringe beneath your eyes to clear away the tears and doggie spittle. "Aye, I can tell that yuir nae used to such as me. There'r... signs that a fellow could use to see that plain as he can see yuir hair is black." Tide replies to you in a bright, liquid manner but serious and understanding. "But, I'm nae one to be actin' harsh'n mean like all'a that. So do nae go worryin' yuirself that yuir nae with a friend 'round here." Ah, but that's the problem, Faanshi's mind wails at her. Her friends vanish on her. Lyre's image lurking in the back of her thoughts, his voice teasing at her consicousness in between the liquid brogue of this sailor who's made it his task to take care of her, the shudra keeps crying softly even as you wipe her tears away. And before she can stop herself, she hears her own voice murmuring plaintively, "A-all my friends go away...!" At any other time she wouldn't say it. But here and now, with fever in her head and weakness in her limbs, she cannot prevent it. Her voice has barely any strength, but her eyes make up for that lack, bereft and destitute. Looking at you for a moment the man's sea colored turn to a manner of distinct sadness when you say this, "Ah." comes his voice in an easy manner, flowing over your sadly abused ears. Tide's sleeve continues to dab lightly at your flesh, what he can see of it, while he thinks on this for long moments, "Yuir afraid'a bein' left." the man says to you in a gentle manner, voice soothing and easy. "Most'a us are, but we got to understand that folk's gonna go'n make their own ways in the world. Some friends go'n others come to replace. Somestay near for a long time, it 'urts, aye, but s'part'a life too." "But th-they all die," the halfbreed maid mumbles, shaking now, wanting to give in to the simple relief of someone drying her tears but still overcome by what is trying to escape her. "M-my heart mother, a-and Craft, a-and StormBearer... a-and Avalon is g-getting attacked a-a-and Lyre h-hasn't come back... he might be... he might be..." As if those last few words are the last few rocks in what's left of a dam breaking free, Faanshi begins to sob in earnest as soon as they've left her lips. Weak as she is, she doesn't cry very loudly. But the tears well up and stream down her face, seeming both freezing and scalding against her skin. "Ach, now lass do nae be cryin' on me. Ye do nae ha'e the strength to be doin' such like that, it'll make ye sick in'a worse way." Tide says in a manner that soudns pragmatic, but it's obviously just that he doesn't wish to see you cry. Setting his leaf-cup aside the man leans over and lifts gently from beneath your shoulders until you can sit against his shoulder. "Shh, lass. Cry on me shoulder so ye do nae mess up yuir veil." he says as one hand touches your hair, a dishevelled mess right now, and strokes slowly. "Folk die'n s'ne'er pleasant if ye cared 'bout. They're in'a better places now, I think." Gathered up into your arms, cradled against your shoulder, Faanshi doesn't try to resist it. One little miserable corner of her mind points out that the last shoulder she wept upon is that of her missing Mongrel bard -- but the implications of crying on someone else's shoulder entirely are too much for her to try to consider right now. You might be a man and you might be touching her... but on the other hand there is comfort in this touch and in the offered shoulder, and the rest of Faanshi's exhausted mind seizes upon the comfort desperately. The top of her sari falls entirely off her head, revealing the top of the braid still haphazardly stuffed beneath it, as she crumples against that shoulder and cries as though her heart might break. As though it has already broken, and is beyond her ability to heal. And so he sits there, quietly listening to the little whimpers and sobs that break free of you so weakly. Rough skin on his hand stroking the soft hair on your head in a slow, steady manner while he makes the occasional gently toned, "S'okay, lass." and continues to seem, and be in fact, generally supportive of your harmed mind and your ill body. Tide wouldn't realize your braid was poorly done or any of the specifc cordial nature of the Varati doings, so he just allows you to release what little of your own pain you will on his shoulder. Kosha whines, but it's not very loud against the weeping of the ailing healer girl. Nor does the dog try to get up and interfere with the soothing his troubled young mistress is receiving, as though he understands that it is a good thing. For Faanshi's own part, she simply cries, spending both her meager strength and a fraction of her hoarded pain in the release. But eventually the murmured, soothing assurances and the strokings against her bared hair begin to have their effect. Her trembling begins to subside... and at last, so do her tears, though by then it seems that Faanshi has tired herself all over again. She tries to stir, to rub a hand across her eyes. As you seem to have dried out your eyes and the majority of all that you needed to let free for the moment, Tide moves carefully to gently manuever you back to laying down. Slipping free from you he sits by your bedside and pulls the blankets up to you shoulder again, "Please, lass, go back to sleep. Ye can eat when ye wake back up again. I can see some small 'provements over yuir earlier condition already. Maybe within a day'r two ye'll be as fit as ye e'er were." his voice whispers to you brightly and with a smile. One thing has changed, indeed. Faanshi's eyes lift up their gaze to try to find the aquamarine one of her benefactor -- and perhaps with a little more readiness than she'd shown before. "Y-you will not go away?" she whispers, weariness and her storm of tears having worn her down so that she has nothing left but the childlike need for this source of comfort to stay near and keep soothing her. It's not at all difficult to catch the unvoiced fear beneath the question, not when that same fear had manifested in her tears... and perhaps in her dreams as well. "Nae, lass. I'll be right here when ye wake yuir pretty head up again, lass. I promise ye that, 'n so will Kosha." Tie says as he looks down at you with an affirming smile and a sparkle to his strangely oceanic eyes. His fingertips touch your forehead for a moment with their rough fingertips before he turns and moves to the fire to rearrange a few things and to eat a bit of the food he's already prepared for the morning. Kosha wags his tail at the mention of his name, leaping up to resume his prior position of vigil as you move away at last, resting his fuzzy head against the side of the bed. And Faanshi sighs once, a sound as tiny as her weeping had been... but this is a sound of relief. Something seems to have eased within the ailing girl, enough that she does close her eyes once more. In moments, she is asleep. [End log.]