A Million Roads to Nowhere

Heal

A temporary camp is set up in the forest. With the supplies taken from the ruins of the Castle of the Moon, there's enough to sustain the hundreds of people for a couple weeks while everyone heals and regains their strength. Clementine leaves Isla briefly in charge as she goes to find Erikur. Isla organizes everything and the atmosphere continues to calm.

Aodhan and Tove work their asses off, running back and forth across camp, snapping orders at anyone who is well enough to go find more herbs or alcohol or any number of various components. Patrick sees Aodhan go by every once and a while, glad to know he's alive. He doesn't go to him, not yet. Aodhan's busy with others and they can have their time together later.

Patrick's whole body aches something terrible and moving at all is a trial. This, he knows, is the consequence of using so much magic at once when he's not trained to do so. Other than that, his injuries aren't grave and he could tend to them himself if he were so inclined to move. As it is, he's fine sharing a bottle of drink with Brynjar. He's not sure what it is, just that it burns on the way down and offers a decent distraction. After drinking half the bottle, he's fit to pass out, which he does.

When he wakes up, Brynjar is still at his side, whittling away at a piece of wood. He's still tucked in his bedroll and even upon waking, his head feels much clearer. He rolls onto his back, wincing as the cut on his leg is bumped. He rubs his eyes, a yawn forcing its way out. The sky above him is blue, by all appearances still the middle of the day.

"How long was I out?" he mumbles.

"A whole day," Brynajr answers. "Out like a light."

Patrick groans as he pushes himself up. He goes off to the side to make water, then walks to the nearest fire pit to get any left over rations from the last meal. His stomach feels empty, particularly ravenous.

Patrick finds a crust of bread and water to eat. A nearby soldier offers him a bit of mush and a couple pieces of dried fruit, which he takes gratefully and devours. The thick oatmeal sticks to his throat as it goes down and he chugs some water to wash it down.

"Patrick?"

He looks up, meeting the eyes of a young soldier he doesn't recognize, but he's dressed in greens, so he must be one of Rozenn's.

"Aye, that's me."

"The healer's asking for you," the boy informs. "Lady Rozenn's one."

"Ah. Uh, do you know where he is?"

The boy points at a tent on the far side of camp. Patrick thanks him, then starts toward there, Ivo at his heels. Tove walks by carrying a cauldron of boiling water. He smiles at her and she returns it, albeit wearily.

He's unsure whether to just walk in or not, so he lingers outside the tent for an awkward period of time before going in. Aodhan's grinding up herbs for a poultice, a pot of boiling cloth next to him. For once, he's alone, no injured, desperately in need of his help.

"Oh, Patrick," Aodhan sighs. "There you are."

He abruptly drops the pestle he's holding and moves to gather Patrick in his arms, fingers suddenly alight with arcane energy.

"I'm okay," Patrick assures, watching as Aodhan immediately begins gathering premade remedies and a cup, which he pours some sort of inky liquid into. He whispers something into the top of the cup and the drink glows green before returning to its previous state.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Aodhan tells him, hands fluttering as if he wants to touch him.

"I'm glad you're okay," Patrick returns.