Maribelle sat on the bench, sipping her tea as usual, saucer in one hand, teacup in the other with her pinky stuck out.
Setting her drink down, she helped herself to a teaspoon of sugar, mixing the drink and then resuming savoring every last drop.
Her eyes scanned the training grounds and she tutted.Â
"What a mess, the more reckless they are with their training, the more strain I and the rest of the healers feel in trying to keep up with their self-inflicted wounds."
Sighing, Maribelle set her tea down once more.
"Of course, this wouldn't be so bad if Robin knew how to manage our army's treasury. Frankly, us healers don't have enough equipment to keep mending their bones and stitching their cuts! Reckless, I say! I'm going to bring this up with him and demand that there be some change! Without healers, we're all simply sitting ducks waiting for the enemy to strike!"
Maribelle stopped musing to herself as she noticed a dark figure enter the training grounds.
Squinting against the sun, Maribelle was able to distinguish it as the body of Tharja.
Immediately, the noblewoman felt discomfort. She didn't know why, and she knew it was wrong to judge anyone by their looks... but she didn't quite feel comfortable with this specific dark mage...
Silently, Maribelle resumed sipping her tea, occassionally glancing back at Tharja, wondering what on earth she was doing here all by herself.