Frowning, Theo pushed Cian back against his linens, though it didn't require much effort on his part. But he nodded to the healer and then to the acolyte of the blood god. "Bala," he confirmed. Tottering a little he turned around, one arm reaching over his shoulder to hike up his tunic, the other pulling down the back of his trousers. A most majestic tree was there, its roots reaching down toward his tailbone, its branches, a sapling's nearing that of a mature tree, grew up along the contours of his back, muscled etched in years of sweat and hard work to feed his people. But what once had been healthy now looked palsied, the color off, and somehow, without quite changing shape, the tree looked diseased. "Mine's bigger than Noc's," he offered, deadpan, gruff humor despite the seriousness of the situation. |