milliways_bar | (no subject)

Khemrys, luckily, is an early riser, and usaully hard at work by now...but she had forgetten something in her room. Her herb basket to be exact...

...and a healer's nature does not allow her to ignore a grizzling child, whether it truly sounds in pain or no...

So there's a woman aproaching, flowing smoothly and gracefully across the floor with a question in her eyes "Lord? Is all well?"

He glances up from trying fruitlessly to hush the child, and smiles at her ruefully.

"He's just having an off-night. And I'm no lord."

"it is a politeness" she chuckled, dark hair pulled away from her thin, angular face in sensible braid for the work ahead...the better for not getting grabbed by young children should she be allowed to try and help in a bit.

Her goldly green eyes scanned him curiously, lingering a moment only on the various scars visible in his current, toucled state. They are old, if perhaps poorly healed. Her opinion of his world's simples have of course gone down.

"May I help?"

At least one of them should have killed him, and nearly did. If it hadn't been for one devoted sergeant...

"If you can get him to sleep naturally, I'll not say no. Richard Sharpe, and he's Patrick."

If it pains him...she may be able to help...but for now she will simply note that he lives, and well it seems. Any man that holds a child cannot call himself unhappy.

Except in a temporary sense.

Competant arms gather poor Patrick without hesitation, cradling him against her shoudler as she stroked his back lightly "I know of no way to do so unnaturally, Lord Sharpe...my simples are upstairs if you care to walk...else I may see what fresh there is outdoors?"

"You're the medic", he says with a smile. "If you have what you need upstairs, then I'll go along."

She knows not the term "I am a still mistress" she offered hesitantly, wondering if the terms were synonymous.

"My still is new, and I have yet to fully stock it, early as the season is...but there is much I can do" she is of course, drifting towards the stairs, Patrick cradled like the precious burden he is.

He follows her, of course.

"Probably better than some that call themselves doctors at home."

"The few patients I have had so far have referred to doctors...rarely in pleasant terms" she admitted.

Her room is just off the stairs, door open and a world of drying herbs and sunlight inside. There's almost a palpable feeling of peace and health in the large area, perhaps starting at the symbol of wheat sheaves enwrapped in a fruiting vine carved upon the door...perhaps not.

She actually walks to a counter and pull sout a small pouch, which she slips around Patrick'c neck. "A sweet dream satchet. Night's Ease, silver ash bark, feverfew...a drop of fern oil" she chuckled, cooing at Patrick.

Sharpe peers around the room, almost visibly relaxing - and Patrick seems happier suddenly, too.

"I'd trust my old sergeant to patch me up more than I would any doctor", he says with a nod.

"It is a calling more than a profession, or so it should be" she spoke softly, eyes warm as they looked around the room with gentle pride.

"You look to have led a harsh life, Lord Sharpe...are you a warrior in your own time and place?" nope, she hasn't given up Patrick yet. She likes children.

"I was. I'm done with that now, though."

Or so he's trying to convince himself. But once a soldier...

"Warriors, so I am told, never stop being such...they simply seek peace more frequently" she chuckled kindly.

"Dame Nimias was a weilder of swords in her time...and during the war it was she who held our gates, though far removed we were from the invaders. I raised on her tales."