He furrowed his brows at the man. "What, didn't they give you some herb mush to drink? That's what they give don't they?" He had never really needed a good dose of healing for anything. He had never broken a finger or a foot, never had his toes crushed or his body racked with claws or fangs. The worst he had ever done was step on needles or poke himself when sewing. Niro seemed to need a splint or a bandage every time he saw him. What did they do to him all the time? He probably liked the poisonous teas healers knew how to make, that smelled like a three week dead cat and tasted like one soaked in brine.
Strel grinned slightly, nodding at the man's approval for the choice of drink. Strel was not much of a picky drinker, though he found he had a fondness for rum and for spiced drinks from the summer islands. It was a nice drink to warm his belly when life seemed at its coldest. But the other man's question forced a frown onto his face as he pulled the warped bottle to his chest and tapped the glass. He looked at it, then back up at Niro before taking a long drink. Finished with his overzealous sampling, he handed off the bottle, smacking his lips as though it was a sweet treat. "Oh, I'm fine. I went off to talk to him and convinced him to come out here. Well..," he paused, looking to the gates. "I hope I convinced him." He gestured with his fingers all of a sudden, showing the change he had seen. "But you would not believe how much weight he had lost since I saw him last. It was insane. You think I'm thin? At least I was born this way!" He shook his head, wondering what that boy did to himself.
Photo taken by Fergal of Claddagh. Table style inspired by Kitty.
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