Wanderer's Respite.[Sama'el]

[Matthial]

Matthial may have been playing dumb, but the blush and downward look didn't go unnoticed. At Sam's last, Matthial raised his hands. "Woah! Woah. I told Miss Rock that I'd still be there in the morning. I can't be doin' this herbal ..stuff. Things to do, alcohol to consume." He emphasized the last, almost desperately. As if the healer might forbid it entirely. Then he paused looking at Denen with something resembling a blank stare. Shying away from the other man's touch he hopped to his feet and looked at Sama'el. Rubbing at his chin he surveyed the other man for a long moment before extending a hand. "You don't know me from Ivak, but I'm not the sort to forget a favor. Your a good sort, friend. Thank you."

[Denen Sunsinger]

A sound left Denen at Sam's word, a sort of gasping, choking laugh. He rarely made a sound when he laughed, save for when he was truly amused, and now was one of those moments. But as Matthial began to protest, Denen frowned visibly, a line creasing his fine brow. He sighed and lifted both hands, signing deliberately and mouthing the words, "If he doesn't sit down, he's going to get himself killed. What's wrong with him?" He frowned up to Matthial, and motioned for him to sit down. Though he was a rather daintily built fellow, there was a look on his face that said that no would not be accepted as an answer. He looked Matthial square in the eyes, frowned pointedly, and said one of the very few words he knew in Common: "Sit."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el wasn't quite sure what happened, but assumed it had something to do with the head injury. He put his hands up, fingers spread wide to show he had no weapons, no tricks up his sleeves, the universal hand signal for calm the fuck down. His eyebrows were flying high, surprise and concern evident, but nothing that would come across as threatening to a stranger in a strange land. There wasn't even time to answer Denen, really, but the healer attempted to take control and so he just backed him up, nodding from the edge of the tent where he sat by himself. "You should sit, Matthial. Let him dress your wounds and then you can go. You don't have to stay here, but you shouldn't continue on like that, bleeding and... those stitches look like they should've come out a long time ago. They'll go gangrenous or something if you don't let Denen help. Just relax a minute."

[Matthial]

If Sama'el was confused, Matthial was utterly lost at this point. As the young man sat down, all traces of amusement left the man's face and where quickly replaced with a blank stare. Like a child might put on when it didn't understand anything at all. Where they really this jumpy? Matthial wasn't sure what to think. He'd managed to walk in here just fine. He wasn't sure what the issue was. As Denen started his work it occured to Matthial that he'd been drinking with Ronan earlier that day. On an empty stomach. A bad sign if there ever was one. Mayhaps he should just sit here... The wanderer settled into an old pasttime when drunk. He started to count things. In this case, the threading at the top of the tent. As he did so he spoke softly out of the side of his mouth. "Hey... tell him I've got a bit of alcohol in me, if that effects any of his medicines..." He let the sentence trail off as he suddenly felt exhausted. Being passive to Denen's administrations he realized that he had been up for almost a day and a half trying to get settled in among the Drykas. He'd actually been considering passing out on the bench Sama'el had found him on. Grinning he couldn't help but smile at the other man's timing. He wasn't sure what the Drykas laws on loitering where, but he guessed slumming out like a homeless fellow wasn't the best way to make friends. Their encounter could have gone alot differently if Sama'el hadn't taken the time to stop.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen's nose wrinkled, and he folded his hands in his lap a moment. "I am fairly positive that he has a concussion," he signed. He leaned closer to examine Matthial's pupils. He raised both hands, looking to Matthial levelly, and took hold of his chin so that he would keep eye contact. "Ask him if he remembers vomiting. He smells too much like alcohol to tell. The stuff petches up my sense of smell." He glanced up to Sam, and then gently motioned for Matthial to lay back by pressing on his shoulder. "And could you grab me that roll of bandages? And..." He paused, "That jar there. It's mint." He rose and reached for his small knife, with which he'd cut the stitches. "I swear to the gods, some things are better left untouched."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Still confused, Sama'el settled down once Matthial did, though the abrupt change certainly seemed odd. Then again, he didn't know Matthial well at all, and the man had gone through some trials just getting to Endrykas. And... oh... "He says he's been drinking, and I'm sure he's exhausted just from getting here." To Matthial, he asked, "Did you keep it all down? Denen wants to know." He reached for the bandages and the jar of mint to pass to the healer, watching carefully because one never knew when one might have to perform such functions on the fly whether out in the field or come what may.

[Matthial]

Matthial blinked and scratched at his chin for a moment. "No." He didn't think so anyway. He'd only had a few flagons of the local brew. As the healer approached with the knife Matthial looked away, and studied the tent. For the most part he was being passive. It was becoming a fight to stay focused and awake.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen knew basic words. Yes. No. Sit. But nothing beyond that, really. He had too much trouble speaking his own language to worry about others. Besides, until recently, it hadn't been important. He was pondering asking Sam to teach him Common. His eyes flickered to Matthial for a moment, lingering on his features. With a quick, flicking motion, he severed the stitches, and then gently began to pluck each of them out. "The best thing for him would be to have a bath and rest here. Where someone who can actually make stitches can keep an eye on him. Tell him his life is in danger, and that he can have my tent until he's better. If...you don't mind me sharing yours, that is. But I will not have this man's blood on my hands when I might have prevented it."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Of course not," he signed. "He's our guest now. Whatever hospitality requires to get him well again." "All right, Matthial. You should just spend the night here. Denen will clean your wounds, there's a stream nearby where you can wash up the rest of you, which will help keep you from catching a fever or a rot. And you can have Denen's tent while you're here, so you can have a little privacy while he's helping you get better, but if you leave and don't get this all taken care of, your life could be in danger. So please," he said, dark eyes compassionate and sincere, "please stay for a while and recover. You won't be any good to yourself or anyone else dead."

[Matthial]

Matthial scowled at nobody in particular when the stitches where removed. The man didn't mind the pain (or lack thereof) as much as the uncomfortable feeling of them being pulled out. Leaning back, the man blinked several times in an attempt to stay awake, and it was becoming clear that this was a losing battle. "Thank you." He didn't move this time, as his hosts seemed rather jumpy. Much like the horses they so prided. Matthial gave a small yawn as he reflected on Syliras and his home. The fields, the orchards, the farm. It all seemed so alien now, especially among the tents and plains of the drykas. He gave Denen a look that was quite clear. Is it ok to move now? Then he turned and looked about. He wasn't sure where exactly Denen slept, but it was probably best that he wash up like Sama'el had mentioned. He probably smelled something horrid after weeks of travel and drinking. "I'll head to the stream then, if you folks don't mind, I shouldn't be more then a few minutes." Still eyeing Denen, the man slowly rose to his feet, ready to plop back down at any sign from the healer. He paused at the door, obviously waiting for some sort of indication from his hosts that this was ok.