Rogan – OOG Hasten 08

(On opposite sides of the modest wooden bed, Rogan and Tyvian roll down the blanket and lift Dauengard’s shift to check on her wounds. The audible gasp from Tyvian’s throat is reflected in Rogan’s face as they reveal the healingwerk of the divine miracle. Rogan whispers.)

“By Aethelgrim’s axe…I have never seen this level of mending outside of a year’s effort. Look at the way the flesh has grown. The new skin has blanketed the wound track. I can barely see where the wound meets the new.”

(Tyvian finds himself speaking words of praise to his goddess under his breath…out of reverence not reservation. Rogan’s eyes fill with fresh tears. His skin begins to tingle with a wash of electricity.)

“Tyvian! He is here. I can feel Father Aethelgrim in this very room!”

(Tyvian looks up.)

“I feel it too, brother. And our Mother Surin as well.”

(For what seems an eternity the two stand staring at one another across the exposed torso of the alewife of Amendar. An illumination brightens the darkened room and surrounds the three. A shared feeling of protection. Of faith. Of assurance.)

“Brother Tyvian Meers. For the first time since this whole bloody mess began, I feel beyond the smallest doubt…we shall win this war. There may be loss, but in the end there will be peace. Oh, what a journey we have begun.”

(Tyvian winks.)

“At least the food in Dunbachmoor is sure to be a bit more appetizing than in the Singe, certes. And the wine?”

(Rogan mocks a stern glance.)

“You went and started a mean hunger, silly priest! And miles to go ’til dinner.”

“Miles, Rogan. Many, many miles.”