"That should set you right."

"Honestly," said the witch matter of factly, clapping the dust from her hands, and then setting them on her waist, "I've seen much worse cases of head-fae, but better to take care of it early on, I suppose."

Daniel was not entirely sure what to say in response to Rhiannon's initial reaction to his ailment. He was in a great deal of pain, after all. If he has had worse in the past, he wouldn't really know, with the whole memory problem. He decided it was best not to say anything at all.

As the witch blew dust in his face, Daniel drew an arm forward to shield his eyes, but was unable to avoid inhaling the stuff try as he might. It merely invoked a cough or two as his body attempted to expel it.

His response was, of course, a lot less than the fairy's. But he was still in a great deal of pain. He glanced up at the fairy, then at the witch, "I..." He trailed off as he brushed dust off of his face, "Don't know what Alex told you. Or if you can understand him." He took careful breathes, trying not to aggravate his condition.

"But I think I have some broken ribs. Do you have anything for that?" He asked.

Rhiannon straightened up with a thoughtful frown.

"That depends," she answered slowly, glancing hesitantly at her bag. She fixed Daniel with a short-lived, but almost satirically dark look out the tops of her eyes.

"How attached are you to the ones you've got?"

He blinked at her response. To be honest, it was a little bit frightening. He looked at Alex, who dropped into a laying position and seemed oblivious to his concern.

Then he looked at the witch again, and swallowed deeply, "Uh. I really like them. Can you fix them?"

In some small moments, the behemoth appeared around the corner at a slow canter. His boots skidded roughly across the cobble-stones, dragging a shower of sparks behind him and carving scores into the pavement as he made the turn.

No sooner had he begun to slow down than the imp riding in his collar seized the end of the length of flags, and swung down and around him in a huge, ever-expanding circle. She stumbled to a halt behind the witch, and hovered at her elbow.

She opened her mouth to say something. Looked at the witch, at the man on the ground.

She closed her mouth again.

“What are you doing,” she hissed in a stage whisper which, as far as could be understood, was completely unconscious.

Since landing, Winn hadn't said or done a whole lot, other than try to hide the fact that his knees still wanted to wobble a little, and that his feet felt funny being on the ground again. He watched the events that unfolded with some... skepticism.

He scribbled a couple things in his book, but mostly made mental notes, lacking the time to record everything in full just yet.

I really, really don't know what to make of Rhiannon. One could say she's... "unique," but that's like saying the ocean is "big." She seems spacy, but at the same time, so deliberate in her misunderstanding of others that, were she not always so placid, one might consider her an insufferable rogue. Half the time, I can't tell if she's being nice or making fun of me. Or anyone else. Maybe she's making fun of everyone all the time. Yeah, I could definitely see that.

Even still, I feel more suspicious of the other people I'm meeting so far, maybe even without foundation. It's just that it feels like we're running into someone with a want or need around every corner now. The pilot wants a part, this guy on the ground needs first aid, the imp girl seems like she wants something... Oh, and there was that harpy that wanted to eat our eyeballs, but maybe that's a bit much for this sequence.

I guess everybody needs something at a time like this. There's also my want, and she's actually happy enough to help me with it. Maybe I need to start caring to help other people, too.

The fact that I'm even needing to have this realization makes me feel like a heel.

Also, I think I just saw a pixie. I feel immediately disposed to despise it. I wonder if I have some subconscious, underlying reason, or if this is just me being churlish again.

"I'm thinking," Rhiannon answered rather unhelpfully. Dropping into a kneeling position next to her bag, she very nearly literally dove inside, shuffling through its contents. As she searched for... what, even she wasn't sure yet, she spoke, seemingly to herself, and every now and again would nod or shake her head at something.

"...could do it if I could take them out first, but -- no, no, don't remember how to put them back, anyway... then... there's always -- no, wait, that's poisonous... Hm. ...that's really only for toes, but... how different are they really?..."

This was all completely audible, and totally within earshot of her "patient," who, with any common sense, would be hobbling away as fast as his injuries would allow...

The injured man stared at his so-called savior as she went on audibly with thoughts on how to help. He was quite worried, needless to say. His mouth hung opened and he looked as if he was trying to form words, but nothing could be produced. Then he looked at his winged companion again.

"Is this payback for something I did?" He asked rhetorically. Of course he wouldn't remember even if he did do something to the hybrid beast. And it's not like he spoke griffon. Alex simply cocked his head to the side in response.

He looked past Rhiannon at the ones accompanying her, "Is anyone a doctor, per chance?"

"Well, certainly not me," answered Rhiannon with an almost musical laugh. Good thing someone found this funny. She rose from her excavation with a glass bottle in hand. It was suspiciously unlabeled, filled with clear reddish-brown liquid, and bulbous at the bottom, with a narrow neck of consistent diameter running away from the body, then stoppered with a cork.

"Not witch- or otherwise, I'm afraid. So this," She half-tossed, half-dropped the concoction into the injured man's lap. "Is the only sort of aid I can offer, guaranteeing it'll have us both sleeping easy tonight."

Suspicious was definitely a word to describe this situation indeed. After all that, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to drink the mystery liquid. He picked it up, and examined it... Then attempted to examine the witch's features for any kind of... queue as to whether she was on the level. Probably with no avail.

After a moment of deliberation, he popped the cork. What's the worse that could happen? -- That's just it. He had no idea. But you know what they say. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Also, maybe it was pain killer. He took a deep breath, and bravely(or stupidly?) drank the mystery potion.

He knocked it back, with an expression that looked like he just got punched in the face. He blinked, then looked up at her. "This... it's mead. Really strong... but I don't know if this is what I need right now."

"Sure it is," assured the decidedly less-magical girl with a blink. "Right now, the best thing for you is to not double over in pain every time you breathe, which you need to continue doing in order to heal."

"I'm not really sure if it actually dulls the pain so much as it just creates an apathy to it, but there you are."

Winn looked upon the griffin-rider with some measure of pity, but no ideas, really. He just folded his hands and twiddled his fingers.



"... I just build stuff," he injected awkwardly at some point in the silence following.

He blinked twice and shrugged helplessly.

"I'd help if I could. I guess I could make a wheelbarrow to roll you to back to town in...? Then we could find an inn or something."

It was really the best he could contribute at the moment.

The imp had said nothing, but had snorted indignantly at the revelation that the mystery liquid was alcohol.

Now, though, she sat, dubiously regarding the witch. She took out the coin the witch gave her, and studiously began trying to hold between her knuckles. She dropped it again and spat some unintelligible syllable that was likely a curse. There was a bit of scrabbling in the dirt as she fought to regain the coin, and then she jerked upright in surprise.

“What?!” she said.

“No, that’s stupid. That—“ she looked at the group and then looked back at the white giant.

“Hu dzo tha’ te dzo nyar’ha! Ha’ar dzo yu do ke!”

“Come oooonn,” she said, dragging her words into a plaintive groan and bouncing up and down on her toes.

“You owe meeeeeee!”


There was silence between the two, then:

“Good, she said. Mollified, she picked up the coin again and resumed her inexpert attempts to flip the coin over her knuckles. She dropped it again, another foreign epithet was spat.

She tried to flip it again—rapidly looked more and more uncomfortable with herself, and dropped the coin a couple more times, before stopping her attempts altogether.

She balled her fists up and hunched her shoulders.

Before the rest of the party could reach a decision regarding the transport of the gryphon-rider, the imp finally spoke again.

“Hey,” she said, to the group at large.

“My s—this guy could probably carry him if you wanted.” She jerked her chin over at the impassive force behind her.