Vena seems to have only shrunken more after he pulled her inside. He doesn't think to comfort her. It was up to her if she was going to take this standing or shriveled up like a desiccated flower.
The first thing Guts notices is that the infirmary is crowded. He sees the finery of religious clothing, with all its delicately woven thread. This lot didn't seem as severe as the clergy he knew, with lectures about their lord's judgment and their self-flagellation. But he couldn't be sure.
Some stare at him, as he expected. Dark eyes looking back, much like his own. His upbringing left him wondering where he came from, sometimes. He never did match the fair color of his adopted father, and mercenaries came from all sorts of places. Such thoughts are quickly quashed by more immediate necessities of food and money. He tilts his head to try and get a glimpse under the layers of fabric, expecting a rope or chain to jingle between the two women to explain their weird positioning. Being forcefully tied together to enact penance sounds right for a religious ritual.
His quest to find that answer is dropped when he sees Lashan herself, and his brows furrow. He recognizes the change in her almost immediately. The wounds looked like they had over a week to heal, at least. Magic isn't the immediate solution that comes to mind, as that simply didn't exist in his world of grime, sweat and meat. Such things were only for dreams and fairy tales.
"What the hell? What kind of medicine did they stuff into you?"
He blurts out the question, breaking the silence in the room after they had been given some privacy. No wounded soldier recovered from a knife wound that fast.
no subject
The first thing Guts notices is that the infirmary is crowded. He sees the finery of religious clothing, with all its delicately woven thread. This lot didn't seem as severe as the clergy he knew, with lectures about their lord's judgment and their self-flagellation. But he couldn't be sure.
Some stare at him, as he expected. Dark eyes looking back, much like his own. His upbringing left him wondering where he came from, sometimes. He never did match the fair color of his adopted father, and mercenaries came from all sorts of places. Such thoughts are quickly quashed by more immediate necessities of food and money. He tilts his head to try and get a glimpse under the layers of fabric, expecting a rope or chain to jingle between the two women to explain their weird positioning. Being forcefully tied together to enact penance sounds right for a religious ritual.
His quest to find that answer is dropped when he sees Lashan herself, and his brows furrow. He recognizes the change in her almost immediately. The wounds looked like they had over a week to heal, at least. Magic isn't the immediate solution that comes to mind, as that simply didn't exist in his world of grime, sweat and meat. Such things were only for dreams and fairy tales.
"What the hell? What kind of medicine did they stuff into you?"
He blurts out the question, breaking the silence in the room after they had been given some privacy. No wounded soldier recovered from a knife wound that fast.