Always a witch

attheborderofoblivion​

“Ah, you went to that short fetcher from Kynesgrove, yea? That’s no Stormcloak’s work.” Two mer were seated on a stoop, apparently engaged in the mysterious task of changing the shorter’s bandages. The speaker peers down at the stitches, which barely peek over the ridge of his shoulder, with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “Mm, the Reni boy. Nevah would'a bet them snakes’d birth a quality leech. Owe m’ life to him- OOW! The fuck’re you doing?! That’s tender!” “Your brain’s tender! Just hold still!“  The taller mer curses under his breath as he tries to re-work the bandages. “D'you think he’s still there? I’m shit at this!” “We ain’ got the gold ta pay him even if he was. Only got this stitched cuz he was good enough ta take half price ‘n a trade.” The shorter mer grumbles, glancing up briefly to scowl at the crowds. The sulky manner disappears entirely when he catches sight of Granny, eyes lighting up as he waves his good arm at her. “Granny! Can you slap a word'a sense inna this fetcher? He’s the worse medic this side of the barracks!“ 

The old Dunmer couldn’t watch for much longer, having been taking the time to see just how the mer would do with what she saw as a simple task. She shakes her head as she approaches, soon shooing the taller mer away from the stoop he sat on. “I won’t be wasting words, but I can take a look at that if you’d let me.”

With steady hands, careful of the still sore wound, Granny Folsi removes the old bandages. As she works to replace them, she takes note of the meticulous sutures on the mer’s arm and shoulder. Fine work, better than most–definitely not the product of the ham-fisted mer trying to replace the other’s bandages. “Been injured recently, eh?”

Hither and yon, as they like to say. A coven came calling and this time the gathering was in Solstheim, of all places. And lucky Granny gets to play nursemaid to backbiting witches still cutting their teeth...troublesome lot, they were, but there were plenty full of piss and vinegar. I’d like to see how they turn out.

“I’d be lying if I said I expected much change.” Granny Folsi confessed. “Attitudes in these parts didn’t just crop up because he was Jarl. We’ll get a few new taxes, the guards around Windhelm might be a bit sharper coming into the Grey Quarter--maybe even to the docks to watch over more than just cargo, but...”