I'm assuming the place he can boil the water is in another room, so he went over there. :O
He felt drained, emotionally and physically. It was as if his body was melting to the floor and he was unable to stop it, and yet the relaxation of his muscles brought him a mild peace after the chain of frustrating events. He breathed and blinked and stared blankly forward in between the times when his name was said or they spoke in his direction, and Jefferson's mind simply wandered on and on. A thousand questions flew past, but he tried to answer not a one. The Patriarch's head spun and his eye saw nothing for a while, lost in a mist, until Dawali brought him herbs. The directions were pressuring but clear, and Jefferson was up in an instant, off to do what he'd been instructed.
Perhaps stepping into a neighboring room was best. He didn't want to see that agony, even though he was certain the sounds would not be omitted. A chill slid down his spine and he shivered; the herbs were hastily dumped into a pot, doused in water, and put to fire atop the stove. As always, the bubbles did not form immediately, and Jefferson found himself staring listlessly into the water there, watching the still water, the floating herbs, the fire underneath, and yet he saw none of them. He was lost in a mist yet again, thoughts buzzing, limbs heavy.
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