Colder weather always offered up further strains to those of whom lingered in refuge within the vast expanse of the wilderness. Those who had senses beyond the average five had known for a time that chills were on the way; the nights had been drawing in earlier and the terrain beneath their feet hardened with plummeting temperatures. Unfortunately, with colder weather came illnesses and with less folk to help around the encampment, things would begin to dwindle somewhat. Was it not paramount that all was kept running smoothly? Yes, it was. And Lyrian would do his best to make certain of it.
So he had spent almost two days solid brewing healing draughts of varying strengths, stocking them ready for the inevitable; not sleeping, not settling, barely taking a break to eat or drink. Most importantly their stocks were now ready and as such dwindled, he would add to it. But oh ā it truly had taken a strain on him and already being stressed from various attacks and movements, Lyrian was just about ready for a damn long nap.
One more task was at hand, however, and that was tending to his Hart of whom still lingered near to them; aiding those of whom could not walk well or were injured and often playing with the children; Ava was a soft-hearted animal and the elf did all he could to be sure she too was cared for. With a few treats and a good brush did he tend to the creature, chatting to her as if she could understand and reply like any other being.
Exhaustion, stress, overwork ā it all struck him rather quickly and Lyrian found himself bizarrely confused for a moment as he stared toward his hand brushing the animalās coat; a rather uncomfortable headache beginning to form in the back of his mind. Had he not been massively confused, the elf would have noted the symptoms straight away and acted accordingly. Instead, he merely slipped down to his knees and fell into a terrible seizure lasting just short of a minute.
It took him a moment or so afterward to regain his consciousness, ears vaguely able to pick up on the chatter from the camp nearby but not well enough to ascertain who was talking or what was being said. Confusion stretched on for a short time longer and then did it register within his consciousness just what had happened. In truth, it had been the worst seizure he had suffered since being a member of the caravan ā the others had been smaller, he hadnāt lost consciousness with them; at least not entirely, and he had been perfectly alone when dealing with them. Nobody knew.
Why did he not tell anyone? Easy; some had accused him of being possessed by a demon in the past and given that he was a mage they had called for him to be killed simply for safety; he was not possessedā¦ Obviously. Others thought he had been blessed by a goddess and in seizing he saw into the ether and witnessed a better world, could speak to the dead ā also wrong. It was something wrong with his body; nothing more.
After a few deeper breaths did Lyrian force himself to sit up slowly; his head reeling, every muscle in his body hideously sore and no doubt he would bruise from where he had just fallen to the ground. He felt terribly lethargic, slow to stand onto wobbling legs. It was getting late; thankfully, but he feared he did not have the strength to walk to the other side of the camp where his tent had been pitched.
Fenrisā was the closest.
A shuddered breath was released, a decision poised within his consciousness; was he to go in there, explain his state, reveal his supposed darkest secret? Or was he to struggle to the other side of camp and potentially collapse again? Then the entire camp would know. Exhaling heavily did he walk toward the other elfās tent and called his name prior to entering.
Certainly he was exceedingly unsteady on his legs, his mind had not entirely come back to him as of yet and he was still very much confused, feeling somewhat sick and he couldnāt quite get his words out perfectly;
āCanā¦ canā¦ I talk toā¦ youā¦?ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā
