Bethberry had caught the dramatic little Moton in her arms as the youngster delivered her message.
"What's this, lass, you're almost ready to tumble me over, so eager are you to advise me of your message!"
Moton had gulped and put on the widest eyes.
"It is very terrible. She's very sick. She emptied her stomach all over ta floor and now she's white like Katy Goblin in the stories."
Bethberry had supressed a smile, for this news was serious, despite the dramatics of the rendition.
"Here, lass, stay with Ruthven if you will, and have a glass of cider for all your trouble, or ask your Ma for some water. Eodwine..."
But he would have none of her reminders about his place. All raced upstairs to the girl's room, a pack of rabbits looking steadier and more organised than this group.
"Falco, you might be thinking of your stomach all the time, but if she is vomitting, I doubt adding more fuel to the combustion will help."
There they were, arranged around the poor girl's bed, Mereflod by her head on the right, Eodwine on the left, Falco at the foot of her bed, and Bethberry on the right by her hand.
"And did she speak at all?"
Mereflod spoke up proudly, recalling all the little bits of detail and information, and even the nature of the contents which the poor girl threw upon the floor and the smells.
"Yes, yes, and thankful we are for yours and Moton's great skill at tidying up. But has she said anything?"
"I tink she said she couldn't see."
"She couldn't see?" repeated the Innkeeper.
Eodwine broke forth. "Oh worse, and worse! The villain! I shall seek him out and demand justice!"
"Let us determine if we can what the girl has gone through, first," counselled Bethberry. "Let us not be too hasty in our deductions."
Falco moaned! "Hasty! Hasty! What is there not to know! She's lying there dying I say! And not even a last supper will you allow her!"
The Innkeeper sighed. "They are most curious, her symptoms. Vomiting indeed is likely with a head wound, which would impair memory, but blindness too? Let us see if we can rouse the lass." With those words, the Innkeeper dipped a cloth in the basin of water that fortuitously had been placed on the table by Saeryn's bed some posts ago and began gently to wipe the girl's face, her brow, her cheeks, her jaw, her mouth, around her ears, and under her chin, refreshing the cloth every now and then. Saeryn moaned as if being brought out of a deep sleep rather than in pain.
"Saeryn, lass, speak to us. Shake off this enchantment and help us understand how hurt you are. Will there be any end of your injuries? We do not wish to see you lurch from worse to worse to ever more serious."
Bethberry would have preferred not to be so firm, but if her healer's skills were to be of any value, she would have to know just where to start.
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