Logs:Interlude
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| RL Date: 12 March, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, Satiet, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 3, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
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| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. It is a winter night, 22:00 of day 2, month 3, turn 19 of Interval 10. It's not so late yet, which may be why a Glacier bluerider has cornered Leova against the wall. Or rather, the Glacier bluerider's daughter has, the tousle-haired girl giggling and the mother standing right behind her. It seems Leova has been manhandled into a game of pattycake. Madilla's arms are full of books as she heads into the Nighthearth, heading directly for the nearest table, where she sets them down. Part-way through seating herself, the healer pauses - it must be the motion from the wall, or perhaps the giggling, but something attracts her attention in that direction: her expression positively melts. An extended exhalation of breath follows; she hesitates, watching. "...roll it with a Z, and put it in the oven for Zeelah an' me!" What a chant. Practically in unison. And of course the girl /would/ have to be one of those adorable tykes that's going to be hell on wings when she's older. Leova gives over to slapping must-be-Zeelah's hands back, that much more carefully for her exuberance, her smile a little strained but she's... trying. And there! A vision, out of the corner of her eyes! "Look!" she says, because even for this Leova can't or won't manage an /ooh/. "Healer Madilla!" It's practically trilled: Madilla must be a wonderful, wonderful person! Madilla, utterly charmed. And if her cheeks go pink, well, it's only because she's plainly utterly thrilled, taking a few steps forward as she's noted so. "Hello, Leova," she says, in a warm voice, and is that a knowing smile for the greenrider, before she glances at the child again?. In a softer, tone: "And who is this, then? Leova's-Friend, who chants so well?" Her books? Abandoned. The exuberance of a child's glee beckons Satiet into the nighthearth from the hallway outside, just on the heels of Madilla's arrival. It's either that or insomnia, whichever seems more likely, that makes her stand there, in that entreeway, leaned into the upward curve of the archway, arms crossed over chest. Looking thin and tired, particularly in the wrinkles and shadows about her pale eyes, the weyrwoman takes whatever moments of unobstrusive study she can get to turn her gaze onto Leova with her charge and then, with a stiffened set to her shoulders, to the Madilla as the greenrider's attention refocuses there; inevitably, she'll be found out. The child's mother turns, her stance gone protective with one hand unnecessarily brushing back the girl's curls. But then it /is/ Madilla, sweet Madilla, who would surely never steal a little girl away, and she smiles. Kindly. Leova smiles. Gratefully. Zeelah practically beams. "Zeeeeee-lah," she tells her, instant delight no doubt due to the young woman's pink-cheeked charm, in addition to whatever instinct tells her that, yes, /this/ could be a way to stall past her bedtime. But she's still clinging close by her mother's legs for the moment, not off to say hello, not yet releasing Leova to do more than look beyond. And yes, all of a sudden, look startled: yes, found out. Madilla is so intent upon the child that she does not, at least at first, not the presence of another not so far behind her. She gives Zeelah's mother another of those warm smiles, as she makes her way close enough to sink down towards the girl's level, grinning. "Zeelah? What a /lovely/ name for a lovely little girl." In such a position, her attention so focused, she remains oblivious, even to Leova's startled expression. Without being addressed, Satiet can fend off that inevitable - startled looks not counting tonight, though surely, /surely/ she must have seen. From Leova, those pales eyes pin to the back of Madilla's head and then drops to the child once more, an indescribable look flickering in her gaze and one of her hands begins rubbing along her upper arm. Goosebumps. For the briefest distracted moment, the dark-haired head turns, looking back elsewhere into the hallway. Zeelah is lovely, isn't she? Adorable. Adored, even, her parents' darling, at least when she isn't stealing cold ashes out of the hearth to "decorate" walls. And flight jackets. And floors. And sheets. And then there's what she gets up to in the lower caverns during foster-time, which is most of the time, but the nannies get to take care of that. In any case, her mother pats her shoulder encouragingly, and so she eases forward with surprisingly-clean hands held up so Madilla can maybe pat them too? Yes? Oh-so-wide-awake, not-at-all-sleepy eyes say /yes/. "Bedtime soon," her mother notes, and the girl tosses a look over her mother's shoulder before she's all smiles for, "Healer Mad-il-la," again. Leova? Makes like a spiderclaw and scuttles along the wall, though not without an amused look from the bluerider: saw you. The greenrider has to shrug, hands up: caught, confessed, kill her later. And then she's walking towards the hallway, or rather, the woman who's standing so near to it still. Madilla's got a subtle nod for Zeelah's mother, as if to say 'don't worry, I won't keep her', and then lifts her own hands to begin the game again. But: "Just once, though, sweetheart, because Mamma wants to cuddle and kiss you /so/ much, and we wouldn't want to keep her from that, would we?" Leova's escape gets caught from the corner of her eye, and her head tilts just slightly - not enough to destroy the flow of the game - to watch her go, though not quite far enough to catch sight of the greenrider's target. A look is easy to ignore. An approach harder, but made easy as Satiet's still looking down that darkened hallway, to whatever lies beyond those stone walls, distracted so much so that when that 'oh right' moment hits and she returns to Pern, Leova is nearly upon her. The pale, paler than porcelain features startle visibly, her rubbing hand halts abruptly, and two blinks bring large eyes upon the tawny-skinned woman so near. There's no greeting or smile, merely a drop of her chin that acknowledges Leova's presence, but the focus of the night remains the healer. Zeelah's mother recognizes the gesture with a relieved smile that's well over the little girl's head, just before the girl announces that she gets to see Mamma almost every day and Mamma can wait. That's when the bluerider glances away, a muscle working in her jaw, but the little girl gets into the game, oblivious. Leova's stopped short too, but it's from Satiet's shoulder that she's looked back. Not walking past. Not walking away. Madilla has to bite back laughter for /that/ response. "You don't want a cuddle? I wish /my/ Mamma was here to give me a cuddle. I think you're really lucky!" As the game ends, she draws her hands back, promising, "I bet there'll be lots more time for games /tomorrow/. Maybe even--" and now, her head turns, and she notes, finally, the presence of Satiet, and of Leova beside her. "--Well! Maybe Leova will play with you again tomorrow. Or perhaps I will." Some of the sunshine has gone from her face; she looks honestly concerned. The slight woman's jaw works as she listens in on the exchange between healer and child, for what's said, and that glance again casts back over her shoulder, avoiding Leova. This time, it returns far more quickly than before. "Don't let me interrupt." It's the first thing she's said, the weyrwoman's attention fleeting across Zeelah rather than the girl's mother. "Don't," to Madilla, Satiet smiles thinly in an expression that doesn't trace in her tired eyes, "Let me interrupt." Though she also notes, in more pleasant, practiced 'talk to a child' tones, "Good night, Zeelah." "We don't always need to be sick to see the healers, sweetheart," the bluerider murmurs, leaving her wingmate out of it for the nonce in favor of scooping up her protesting daughter like so much firestone. "Maybe, if you're good, I'll take you to see her just for fun... if she's not too busy right then." Ralah meets everyone's eyes deliberately, see-she's-all-right, although Satiet right there like that shakes her composure. "Good night, Healer. Leova, bright-and-early. ... Weyrwoman," deferential as she whispers into her daughter's ear. "Good night," Zeelah dutifully parrots, the last words she's allowed before she's slipped out. If there's any why-does-she-have-such-big-eyes-Mamma, it's for Mamma's ears alone. "Not at all, Weyrwoman," says Madilla, rising to her feet now that Zeelah is safely back in her mother's care, although she waggles her fingers after the little girl, smiling brilliantly. "Good night, Zeelah!" The Healer follows the bluerider and child far enough to join Leova and Satiet, then comes to a halt, all eyes on the latter of the two; she hesitates, then, though her brows are just slightly lifted - a question, unspoken? Then: "Good Evening, Weyrwoman. Leova." Satiet maintains her adopted stance, leaned casually against that archway with the sudden awareness that all eyes in the room are now on her. At any other time, this might bring her proud little chin up and an easy, sly smirk to her lips, but today, tonight, with this audience before her, her hand merely resumes its goosebump-chilled rub of her upper arm. "It feels like snow tomorrow." Awkward much? "Bright and early," Leova parrots in her turn, though it's more of a murmur as Ralah goes. Five by five? She's got the slightest shake of her head for Madilla, a curl of her fingers on Satiet's far side: please. "Should cover up the brown melty glop, then." No more helpful. Madilla's wide-eyed glance crosses between the two women, marking her hesitation in response, hands clasped suddenly behind her back. "Every time," she begins, finally, her words uncertain, "You begin to think spring might be coming... There comes the snow again." Pause. "Would you like to sit down, Weyrwoman? Perhaps near the hearth. Or something to drink?" She's biting at her lip - a sure sign of her discomfort. How much more mundane can this get than weather other than seeing to the Weyrwoman's comfort. Forceful, "/No/." A pause brings a breath and composure. "No, no," the triple negation quicker and dismissive along the final two. Her thin hand even waves, the discomfort that descends the room with the awkwardness of her presence finally sending her two steps back. "I was just on my way to the nursery. I'm fine." There's the faintest emphasis on the last word, with an overly casual look glancing over Madilla's features. It's almost as if Leova isn't in the room, the amount of attention Satiet pays her, but as she turns to leave, a large-eyed blue look shoots the greenrider's way. "Good night, Leova." Quick negation, quick indrawn breath. Leova starts into one step forward, but Satiet's second step back halts her, amber eyes flicking from the woman to Madilla and back again. Her hand flies to her mouth, stays there for a moment before it falls in slow, deliberate motion to her side and her shoulders square. "As you say," and she inclines her head so slightly. "Good night." Madilla looks as though she might like to sink straight into the floor at the vehemence of Satiet's refusal, though she stands her ground, her expression managing - after a brief moment of unhappiness - to maintain the concern imprinted so deeply into it. "Of course, Weyrwoman. Enjoy your time in the nursery - and good night." At least she manages to keep her tone steady, though her gaze flicks, unhappy again, towards Leova, and hesitates there a moment before it returns. Has Madilla ever before been dragged into a storage closet, an alcove, or just plain a spare cave? Leova certainly gives it a go, though at least she waits until Satiet's gone, if barely, and it starts out as an easy walk that aims to head back to Madilla and take her elbow and take /her/ along with the greenrider somewhere where they can talk. And look casual about it along the way. Or try. Whispered, "Come /on/." And smile! It's inevitable at this point, isn't it? So Madilla doesn't fight being dragged along like that, and doesn't even glance back for her abandoned books, still tidily sitting upon the table. "I'm coming," she tells the greenrider, though there's heavy reluctance in her voice, if not outright unhappiness (again!). There are no smiles - that's a little more than the healer can manage right now. And if she doesn't look back for her books, /Leova/ certainly doesn't notice. This way, that way... the entrance to the baths gets an odd brief look, but in the end it's a very small room indeed that she drags the healer into, mostly just enough room for the two of them and the glowbasket and the array of boots and the like that are old enough to not warrant being locked up at night. Once in, she slides slowly down the wall, face pale, until with a thump she's on the floor with her feet out in front of her and looking up at Madilla. Flatly: "She's not fine." Released, finally, Madilla wraps her arms around her middle, glancing down at Leova on the floor, though she doesn't move to join her. "Noo," she admits, extending the vowels unhappily. Her eyes shut, squeezing tight. "She's not." "She's been looking sick," Leova says, still looking up, braced by the wall. "Not just, just quitting drinking. That's not it. We thought it might be that, Madilla. We thought it wasn't going to /last/." Slowly, Madilla's eyes open again. There are tears, there. Real tears. One slides down her cheek. "It's not that," she confirms. "Though it's related to that. To the drinking, I mean. The not-drinking." She pauses, shaking her head. "I'm not-- it's part of my /oath/. Patient confidentiality." It sounds like she's pleading - like 'don't hate me for not telling'. Real tears. Leova files her teeth across her bottom lip, maybe something she's picked up from her wingleader, /just/ shy of biting. "I know," she says softly, urgently. "I know. And I didn't tell. Wouldn't tell. She's not well. Not, not /pregnant/, but not well. And it's not that she's quitting, not that she's not going to wind up like..." Two and two finally make four, that /oath/, and likely they should have long ago but math's so much harder when you don't want that answer, and she's staring at Madilla. Just staring. It barely escapes her. /No/. Not pregnant. Not well. All of this, Madilla can nod along to, blinking back the tears as best she can along the way, but coping. It's when the realisation hits that she has to look away again, as the tears begin to trickle faster. "There's nothing--" she begins, but the words don't finish themselves. "I can't--" And then: silence. And, slowly, her gaze meeting the greenrider's again. And it's then that Leova can't look any longer, not even at Madilla, and her hands go up over her face again, and her hands start trembling and it goes up her arms and then it's the rest of her, just that fine barely-perceptible tremble that's her not-crying not-not-not. Madilla hesitates only a moment - a single moment - before she drops to the ground, reaching out to put her hand on Leova's shoulder, unwilling to take any further liberty, but still: she's here. She can't do much, but she's /here/, and she understands. "I'm sorry," she whispers. Shaky shaky Leova, the more so for the touch, but then she reaches up for Madilla's wrist like she's not going to let her go. Her head tips to the younger woman's forearm and what she says is, low voice trembling on the verge of laughter, "You really are a healer, aren't you? Always want to help..." So Madilla keeps her hand there, firm and warm: solid. "Of course," she tells Leova, her voice sounding suddenly more certain, as though having /something/ to do, or help with, makes everything simpler. "It's my job. It's what I do. What I /have/ to do." Her tears appear to have halted, at least for the moment, drying in trails down her face and about her eyes. After that assurance, Leova sighs out a long getting-toward-controlled breath, presses her other hand to Madilla's even if it does show the rest of her face... and then sits up just enough to rest her wrists on her drawn-up knees instead, head hanging low. "What are we going to do." Madilla is silent, and very still, while Leova sighs out that breath, and remains that way until the greenrider has sit up. Then, finally, she withdraws her hand again, pressing both into her lap as she positions herself, cross-legged, upon the floor. "What can we do?" she counters, clearly intending it as an honest question: she's at a loss. "She's... It looks like she's hurting," Leova says plainly, if to her own crossed wrists. She takes a deep breath, lets it out, aiming for frayed over ragged. "And there's nothing... nothing the healers can do." Not, nothing /you/ can do. The reluctance weighs down Madilla's tone, as she responds, sitting heavy, like an unwanted elephant in the room. "She is," she admits, after a pause of several minutes; there's no point lying, anymore. "I-- there's only so much we can do." She takes ownership: /we/. "And she needs to be able to function as long as possible. Before." "Yes. Yes, of course," only Leova's looking ashen again. She swallows. "To get done... get done, everything she needs to. She didn't /say/," only then, then she blinks several times in succession, mouth pinched tight. Madilla lets out a long breath, and has to turn away again; her cheeks are pinched tight, her knuckles white from the clenching of her fists. "I don't think she intends to tell anyone," she says, very slowly. "I don't know for sure, but... She's known for months, now. And... She hasn't." Leova's eyes close, like that's going to help somehow. Her voice notches up in pitch but it's still very, very quiet. "Madilla," she says. "There's before. Where she decides. What she can do, has to do, can't do. To get through it." A short pause, and then her voice speeds up enough to get through it. "And, and then there's after. When we're left. Madilla, /Madilla/, I want to talk out loud. What this is going to mean. But your burden's real big already." Slower, only then, at the last. Madilla bites at her lip, teeth pressing hard into the soft flesh, while Leova speaks. "Talk, Leova," she says, encouraging, simply. "Keep talking. It's better than-- than having to keep it in." She'd know, of course. Her words have been slow in escaping, but now, a stream of them: "She probably has a few more months, and then... And after. Tiriana. Unless Iovniath rises too soon, right? Before. But: /Satiet/. How it must feel." "Unless she does. Or Rielsath does again, surprise." Leova's eyes are still shut, the tiny muscles twitching in the fine thin skin above her lashes. "How do you think she feels." "I can't properly imagine," says Madilla, heartsick, her voice shaking slightly. "That's the problem. But knowing that there's only one end, that you have a limited time, and it's going to be painful... She spoke to Carobet. I don't know what was said; I don't read those files. Ever. But. That's something, I hope." Distracted, Leova thinks to ask, "But Carobet's an apprentice. Senior apprentice, but... Delifa? She reads the files. She must. /Painful/." "By Senior Apprentice, you more or less get to work alone," says Madilla, vaguely, more or less an automatic explanation. "Delifa. All the Journeymen, yes. I don't... I'm glad I don't have to. My head is plenty." And now she's getting some of Leova's. Might be selfish, Leova not saying that out loud, but she's already warned Madilla once. "You know what this will mean. Loyalties. Our world shook up like, like one of those trader globes only it's not pretend snow that's falling. Most junior of the juniors, likely paying everyone back, and I don't reckon she'll listen to the headwoman much. /N'thei/." Madilla's nod is slow, and her eyes are wide. "I know," she agrees. "It's been-- I've been fretting over it. All of it. Will N'thei still be Weyrleader? I suppose we can't know that. That's just it, I suppose: we have no idea. I don't... And no one knows, so they can't prepare themselves." She draws her knees up towards her chest, wrapping her arms about them and squeezing. "And we get to sit here and know, and be able to do... nothing." Pause. "I'm sorry." "I don't know." Leova does open her eyes at the rest, if narrowed and only half-focused, and when it comes to the apology, waves it away. "Thing is, Madilla. I don't think... I don't think he cares about being Weyrleader so much. I think. I /think/ it isn't all sweets and flowers and holding hands but I think it's /her/ and when she's gone..." Madilla's lips tighten, all the same, at the waving away for her apology: she obviously means it. "You think he won't care to keep-- you think it's that deep for him?" It's clearly not something she's considered before. "So it could be a complete unknown. Better - or worse. And... she won't have told him, either. /Oh/." Her empathy for the Weyrleader is audible, an aching note to her tone. "He might? It... it could be Turns before Iov... before /anyone/." Leova draws in a shallow breath, too quickly. "Don't think so, though. From what I read, what I heard. There's a void, they want to fill it. But. N'thei. Nothing holding him back, no one... no one to lose." She scrubs her palm over her face, keeps talking so she doesn't have time to stop. "Madilla, he's done some things he shouldn't, that he really, really shouldn't. Don't want to answer to anyone. Uses his knot like..." Profanity. "But for all they say about Crom, him and the rest, they were trying to keep people warm, warm enough to live. And there was a time where there was a girl, and her dragon was going up and she never had before, and he protected her, some anyway, and kept Wyaeth from ripping into them when her dragon..." Leova swallows, could look out between her fingers, doesn't. Carefully, "He could do about anything. But. He means a lot. To /Satiet/. And my wingleader besides. It's all true." Silence, from Madilla, who listens intently, thoughtfully, with tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "Oh, /Leova/," she breathes, finally, her voice cracking slightly. "And there's nothing we can do." "There's always something. About something." Leova's mouth compresses. "Even when it isn't enough. So: they, they're for each other. Means he could be, not less dangerous, but more. You see." Madilla breathes, long and hard, and finally nods. "I see," she agrees, finally, emphasising each word. And then, another thought: "Are you going to... tell anyone?" "Don't want to." Leova's hands move back to her face, but she shoves them away, back through her hair. "/Don't/ want to. Want to protect you. /And/ don't want to talk about it nohow, don't want to think about it, want it to /go away/, but it's so big. You got your oath. I... don't. If they, any of them, find out I know. And didn't tell..." Madilla squeezes even more tightly her arms about her legs, hugging them to her chest in almost desperation. "I didn't... strictly tell you," she says, finally, speaking more towards her knees than Leova herself. "Or - nothing specific, at least. So. If you needed to." Beat. "It's hard, knowing, and not being able to say." "Yes." Not that Leova's known so long, not about this. "And no. You didn't. Strictly." She can pick a tangle out of her hair, at least, and so she does, though it's more like ripping. "Milani already thinks she's sick. Is worried. So there's that. I... don't like to think what Tiriana might do to her, either. With Satiet gone. Not only /being/ gone, not stopping her, but being /gone/. Will shake Millie too. It's... hard to deal. With someone like that. Gone." "Yes," agrees Madilla, softly. "It's /hard/." To deal, presumably, but perhaps she means all of it. Because it must be. "I've had patients die before, but not... Like this. With everything." She pauses, pursing her lips, and then says, "I don't know what's worse. The burden of knowing, or of-- finding out when it's too late." Leova's already low voice lowers far enough that it grits, maybe even grates, "/Still/ rather know." It's a bitter smile that crosses Madilla's face at that - but she nods. "I know. I wondered, then, whether I should have--" That conversation, months ago. "But I couldn't." "I know." Leova makes use of Madilla's own words, a little softer now. Breathes in. Breathes out. Useful thing, keeping that up. "Other healers," she says. "Don't guess they're taking it as hard as you?" Madilla hesitates, and then shakes her head. "No," she admits - agrees? - in a quiet voice. "They're not. I-- Delifa keeps reminding me that we only ever do what we can. But." Her lips twist, wry. Rueful. Unhappy. "I can't help it." "Maybe," Leova acquires some of Madilla's wryness too, "Working with children, after this? Child's play." Worth a laugh, even now? Especially now? A moment or two later, "Think Lujayn will be all right. In the end. It'll hurt her too, but even if Satiet... even if /Tiriana/... Lu's got a good head on her shoulders. Worked as a runner between holds, you know. Likely to make do. Get along." It's an uneasy, half-hearted one, but yes, Madilla manages a laugh for that, a hesitant nod. Right. Child's play. "I don't know Lujayn very well," she says. "But... that's good. We'll need that, won't we? When everything else..." Leova swallows. Yanks at another tangle. "Don't reckon she'd cut and run, either," she says. "If Rielsath. Doesn't. Though... if she ever felt like she had to... reckon just about anywhere'd take her, goldrider or no. She gets along like that." A bit of rusty fluff comes free. She flicks it onto the floor. "But you know it could be anyone. Weyrleader. From anywhere. And then it's no one 'Reaches at all." "Someone in the infirmary was telling me Tiriana was going to Ierne. Temporarily. Maybe she'll want to stay." Madilla doesn't sound as though she's entirely sure this gossip is based on any kind of fact, nor that she'd be holding out hope if it /were/ true, but it's wryly wishful, all the same. "All these changes. Coming. Just don't know /when/. It could be... She might have months left. Months and months. Or not." "/Ierne/." Leova'll catch on anything, maybe, some shaky thread of hope. But then again, Tiriana-or-Lujayn and even N'thei are all distraction in the end, and Madilla 's reminder of what she's trying to avoid makes her not only file but bite her lip, this time. "Would... /she/ be able to know. At all. Even if she doesn't tell you absolutely everything." Madilla's nod is at odds with the shrug of her shoulders: maybe, maybe not. Who knows. She hesitates before answering the greenrider, considering with lips pursed before managing to draw out her words. "To some degree, at least. That is, she'd know the progress of her own symptoms. But it's all... inexact. Some people struggle on for a long time. Some... don't." She gets a nod back from the greenrider, one that's gone jerky again, and not so much a real shrug as her shoulders just clamming together. "See what you mean. I think." Leova's voice is tight too, the more so given the respect for what the healer has to say: can't just shrug this off. "So. Any time at all. Her brother's back, you know. The Weyrwoman. She can take her own Records?" And another nod, sent back, a round robin of confirmation and understanding. Madilla breathes, more than says, her next answer: "Yes. To both." She threads fingers through each other, and glances down to watch them, fiddling. "Might do," Leova says slowly, "To have a copy made, set aside. In case. Not that they wind up gone, and then people are asking questions of the healers, you know they're going to. But then. They're /hers/. Her body." Her place. "Why she would send Tiriana away /now/..." but then the greenrider shakes her head in a flurry of half-untangled-means-half-sticking-up hair, "Don't want to think about that part. Not now." However distracting it may be. "Think she'd tell you? If. Gave... up." Madilla looks surprised, at first, at this suggestion, and then her cheeks flush and she nods. "It's a good idea. Just in case. Not that we'd share, but-- to keep. In case." She has no answer for most of the rest, just a slight shift of her head, more a shake than a nod, but not really either. "No," she says, finally. "I don't. I don't know... but I'm not sure she'd tell anyone." And really, why would she? And why would Leova even think to ask the juniormost healer? Except... except. It's what they have, the two of them. Quietly, "All right. Madilla. So we can't do anything to /fix/ it. But in between. In between now and... months from now. Or whenever it's going to be." She could keep talking, but instead she searches the healer's eyes at last. Madilla's gaze meets Leova, but there are no answers there: in truth, there are just more questions, and maybe some kind of hope that, maybe, Leova herself might have some answers. Or - at least, some /ideas/. "In between... we do what? That's just it: I don't know. She doesn't want support. I think she just sees it as pity." "Likely." Leova picks up the bit of rusty broken-off fluff, fidgets with it. Picks another off her shirt. "Think... think. Maybe. Since I do. Know. Might let on. Just to her, roundabout-wise, not straight on. In case there's anything that needs doing. Another pair of hands. You think?" Madilla looks, for a moment, stricken at this idea. But then, slowly, she begins to nod. "I think," she decides, "That it can't hurt. And it might... make a difference. To her." She pauses, then adds, reluctant, uncomfortable, "I'm... supposed to be in the infirmary. Night shift. But." "Maybe." Leova can hope, and with that she shapes the wince from Madilla's shift in expression into something more deliberate, more purposeful. "We'll do what we can. Tell each other. Burden shared, hm?" Her smile's a wry shadow of itself. "And meantime, not make you late. Or later." Madilla manages, with obvious effort, to turn her expression into something of a smile, a close match to Leova's own wry shadow. "Right," she agrees, releasing a breath. "A burden shared. It... helps, a little. To be able to talk." With a deliberate nod, she draws herself to her feet, if still reluctantly. "I'll talk to you soon." Before she goes, she hesitates, her gaze lingering upon the greenrider, as if to reassure herself that Leova will be fine - and then she turns, opening the door, and disappears into the evening. |
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