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The infirmary stank of elfroot and embrium. It was unsurprising, since that seemed to be a commonality of anywhere the ill were aided in being brought back to health. For Meredith, it sparked memories she would rather her mind had lost to time. Unfortunate that they lingered, but it was of no matter in the moment.
Instead, she focused on the rough hay of the mattress she sat upon, the cool stone of the wall against her bare back, the formed leather of the grip of her Knight-Captain’s sword. The Enchanter had tried to insist that her spells would be enough to defend them if need be. Meredith hadn’t scoffed aloud, though only by the barest of margins. As though she could leave defense of her and hers to an unknown mage, trustworthy or no, sightless or no.
She had dragged the cot she'd claimed next to the door as soon as the Enchanter and the unknown healer had settled her Knight-Captain. The healer had left, giving the excuse of being needed for some other business. Perhaps he was part of one of their laughable trials, muttering of justice as he went, or some such thing.
Meredith sat - broken ankle on her cot, good foot on the floor and her hand trembling against the sword grip - listening for anything at all from outside. She did not trust that her circumstances could so turn for the better without something to try and foil it.
Instead, she focused on the rough hay of the mattress she sat upon, the cool stone of the wall against her bare back, the formed leather of the grip of her Knight-Captain’s sword. The Enchanter had tried to insist that her spells would be enough to defend them if need be. Meredith hadn’t scoffed aloud, though only by the barest of margins. As though she could leave defense of her and hers to an unknown mage, trustworthy or no, sightless or no.
She had dragged the cot she'd claimed next to the door as soon as the Enchanter and the unknown healer had settled her Knight-Captain. The healer had left, giving the excuse of being needed for some other business. Perhaps he was part of one of their laughable trials, muttering of justice as he went, or some such thing.
Meredith sat - broken ankle on her cot, good foot on the floor and her hand trembling against the sword grip - listening for anything at all from outside. She did not trust that her circumstances could so turn for the better without something to try and foil it.
