Somewhere in the space of several long blinks (nothing like sleep snatched in the rock of a steady gait), Gale disappeared. No more hard arms, nor any kind of support. Darian was badly startled by the abrupt change, fingers questing beneath him as he sprawled on a bier of air. He tried to lurch upright, the weightlessness of his body slippery with magic that was after a moment familiar. Normally he'd delight in this but tonight the hollow scoop of his stomach argued otherwise. Vertigo was persuasive. He was turning his head, protesting, "I can walk!" even as Tulojow opened the door.

Wonderful woman, Tulojow Nagde. Very flexible with her working hours. Darian was so glad he could cross her off his list of Hogwarts staff meet-and-greet. Now he was safely in her hut (a palatial example) with its many lots of rooms and sharp medicinal scent. The fire and lamps inside were painfully bright after the dim stars of the forest canopy, but Darian was willing to forgive anything for a bit of warmth.

"Good morning!" he said, all smiles, bedraggled, half-reaching out to clasp her hand. "I'm sorry about this, you know, the time - it's very late by now, isn't it? But I'd give my kingdom for a headache cure, if you know what I mean."

Gale had wanted to run, though the weight of the situation held him in place. He hated to hear Darian's protest, and hated more the way he struggled in Tappy's spell. Was it so hard to hold him? Gale wanted to snarl at the Astronomy Professor, and wonder what it was that crossed his mind. Darian looked damn near panicked, but neither were a child--and this was the right place for him.

In the lantern light the shadows played games across his face, and reflected only of the silver in his one gleaming eye. His head was down--cautious--concerned, and despite his best attempts he was worried. There was so much blood, or had been until Tappy came along and sealed the wounds temporarily. Darian was talking, which was a good sign, but he wasn't glittering anymore. His blood wasn't burning in his veins, and he seemed pale.

"He has been struck several times, Madame." His manners always brought out the rich sounds of his accent, the soft Picardy accent of Aragon[1] a heritage older than many of the trees, and as soft as the peach blush on his cheeks. What had come of the man who nearly an hour ago swelled like a demon spawn in an alley to tear of the limbs of Darian's attackers. Gale nearly cowered in the hut's corner, watching the woman as if at any moment she'd spawn her own devils and suck out all of their blood. But with his brave face on, at best he could he continued,

"And has lost a lot of blood."

1.	http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kingdom_of_Aragon

"It's 5 bloody feet, Darian," Tapendra said, tone chiding but not unkind, despite his general annoyance at this whole situation. Normally, he would have walked with the man - but right now, it was rather more effort than was strictly required. Besides, vertigo or not, Tappy assumed the gentle floating position was better - safer to lay on an invisible stretcher than jerk his head and neck around too much, really.

He glanced, out of the corner of his eye, at Gale. So the man hated the hospital hut, but was going to come in and make annoying growling comments in the corner? Blast. He'd hoped to be rid of the annoying little tit, get Darian actually taken care of, and then go to the tower and get some sleep. Apparently that was not to be; Kesali's little quips were going to be like nails across his internal chalkboard.

He shot Tulojow a look that said, quite plainly, don't ask. Then he inclined his head at Darian, guiding him over to the usual slab that - purposefully or not - seemed to function as an operating table.

"Beaten up in London," Tapendra told Tulojow, far more comfortably and casually than Gale had. "I've stopped the blood   with a Stamia charm, but he was out in the woods for...some reason." He avoided the glare at Kesali only by sheer force of will power and a determined effort to ignore the man. "And was laying on the forest floor. I didn't get much of a chance to clean them." The charm, while it stopped blood flow, left wounds open to the elements - and it was quite possible Darian had picked up plenty of nasty germs.

He paused for a moment, awkwardly, and then said, "What would you like me to do?"

It was, after almost a year of residence here, something of a given that Tappy was going to hover about the hut until the patient was stable or he was forcibly thrown out the door.

Rustling and movement beyond her windows had roused the Healer moments before the motley trio reached her front door.  As the hushed, anxious voices drifted up towards her window, Tulojow pulled a flannel dressing gown over her shoulders and stepped towards the charmed top step that would lower her to the ground floor. 

She met the three young men at the door, humoringly shaking Darian's hand as she glanced between the two professors as Tapendra levitated Darian over to one of the exam tables.  Once inside, the Charms professor scurried towards one of the shadowed corners and a dark eyebrow hitched up on Tulojow's forehead as she cast an unspoken question in Tapendra's attention.  The man's twitchy behavior, however, wasn't the primary concern and Tulojow turned her attention towards Darian. 

"Beaten up?" Tulojow asked, glancing between the two professors before turning back towards Darian.  "Madame is not necessary.  I'm not much of a fan of titles," she corrected Nightingale gently but firmly.  There were far too many stairs in the castle for the Healer's mangled knee; Tulojow typically spend very little time within the dark, stone corridors so she hadn't had much opportunity to cross the Charms Professor's path since the start of the year. 

"Did either of you see the-"  As of yet, the Healer didn't have enough information to know whether or not the incident had qualified as a fight.  Or a one-sided attack.  "-altercation?  Is all the damage mechanical?" 

Tulojow did, indeed, have enough experience with Tapendra around the Hospital Hut to know that, left to his own devices, he could get as fidgety as a caged canary so pointed towards a jar of tiny seed pods on the shelf.  "I need six dozen of those separated out.  Hulls in one bowl; seeds in another."

Gale went to the table where Darian was, and came to stand by his head. He touched gently his hair first and brushed it from his face, "It wasn't one sided, at least not meaning he didn't fight back. But they came out of no where. I wasn't gone long enough for him to start such trouble on his own." He looked up at the medicine woman and wanted to ask her what she meant by such accusations. However, it was Trishna who would get the brunt of Gale's deadly glare--he'd had about enough.

"And he was in the woods, Tapendra, because I didn't know where else to go. I was running from the fight, and I can almost promise you those woods have just as much healing power than this hut. Those are in fact seeds you have in your hands are they not? You are aware that most healing herbs do in fact come from the ground, right?" Without the fire at his back, the light gave way to a little bit of his own skin darkening where he was struck only once, but he'd not be in need of Tulojow's services.

Nightingale, had never been here before, not for personal reasons at least. Arthur's family saw to it he saw the best healers after the war, and wouldn't have been caught dead in such a hut. However, Gale, now inside felt rather at home; at least in the sense that he was born on a table like this.

"People," Not just Muggles, "Have survived much worse without the use of magic. If you rely too heavy on it, what will happen if someday it's gone?" That last was spoken more to Darian, or at least in a voice that was a bit more intimate as he continued to brush his fingers through Darian's hair in comfort.

Once instated on the cot Darian's eyes moved with bleary interest over the interior of the hut, marking doors and colored bottles, dancing away from the full bright glare of the lamps. He got distracted a moment by the way Tapendra's face changed as he spoke and the subtle shift of muscles in his jaw, under his beard, Darian paying very little attention to his words until finally he forced himself to tune in. Any conversation now, he suspected, would be extremely boring - technical, mechanical, now that was Tulojow's word. He hadn't the slightest idea as to what she meant. Magic was the opposite of mechanics, wasn't it? But then, the men hadn't used their magic much.

He let the others do the talking. No one was really asking him.

For all his soft touch, Gale turned on him also something with which Darian was personally familiar: mild-spoken but unmistakable reproach. More forthcoming with his reactions than he might ordinarily be - less concerned with the pleasantness of the emotions he showed on his face - Darian made a terrible grimace. He was rarely angry but he was starting to get annoyed, a state of agitation bolstered by the pounding in his head and the throbbing pain of his limbs. He hadn't even walked here under his own power, much less insisted on this. No need for Gale to lecture him on whether or not his wounds needed magical intervention! If he'd had his own way he'd be holed up in his flat for Misa to fuss over the next morning at work, not carried through the woods and dumped on Tulojow's cot.

"Pack me up and send me home, then!" he exclaimed, natural dramatics prompting him to throw up his arms in exasperation (more of a flop, tonight). "I can bleed on my own sheets, at least." 

Unhappily he rubbed one purpling eye in an attempt to clear it. It hurt enormously. He picked up that Gale and Tappy were still talking about the forest, though not - in his current state - that what they were doing could be more accurately described as bickering. He wondered, then, why they were still discussing it. In the grand scale of Darian's life, bleeding on a forest floor was barely more than an interesting blip. Maybe he'd - ha - picked up some friends like Tappy was implying. Maybe now his blood was dirty. Darian looked down at the open cuts and scrapes on his arms in bemusement.

"Shut it and be quiet, Darian. I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the damn judgement I'm getting from Tapendra for taking you to the forest instead of here. I made a mistake ok," He hissed, "But damn it I was in a panic! Now sit still and let the lady work. Because I know we are all finished with this night, and ready to go home"

The woods have just as much healing power as this hut? That was one of the rock stupidest things Tapendra had heard all night - and perhaps all year - and try as he might, he couldn't help but shoot the Charms professor a look of sheer, almost un-angry incredulousness. For a moment he was almost too stunned to be angry. The he grit his teeth against what he wanted to say - he liked Tulojow, respected her deeply, and Darian was injured. He settled for thinking it. Loudly.

Next time I cut myself I'll be sure to roll around in leaf litter and hump a tree. Surely that'll help just as much as a place where the medicinal herbs were on hand and properly prepared and there's someone on hand who knows their proper use!

He forced himself to walk, steadily, over to where the seeds were, picking up the jar. Darian's annoyed tone - dramatic as it was - made him smirk slightly. At least he was acting halfway normal. It was far too easy to imagine Darian just sulking on home and quietly bleeding to death, unfortunately. Or shocking that poor girl of his - what was her name again?

He counted out six dozen seeds, the cracking of their husks occurring with just a bit more force than was, strictly speaking, necessary. Gale continued to whine on, and Tapendra's teeth grit tighter, his shoulders and back tensing under the sheer urge to turn on his heel and hit the man with the quite simple truth. And possibly his fist.

I'm not judging you because you're an idiot, he thought, nostrils flaring as he let his breath out. I'm judging you because you're an asshole.

He had to pause for a moment, taking a deep breath and putting his hands on the counter, knuckles white as he gripped the edge. He couldn't help but correct one thing, and even as he said it he quickly changed to focusing on Tulojow. "It's Trishna, Mister Kesali," he said, coldly, and looked to Tulojow as he resumed the seed-preparing. "What would you like me to do with these when they're done?"

"No, it's not Mister Trishna when I'm not speaking directly to you. Don't correct my manners when you are the one casting glares and snarky remarks. When I'm speaking about you to another, I'll call you whatever I please. You are lucky that is all I have on my tongue for you right now, and the next time I'll just leave him in the alley." It's what Arthur would have done. Oh how he was so over it, and quickly turned to Tulojow.

"If there is not anything you need from me, I'm going to excuse myself."

---

OOC:

I had to giggle about this:

“Well you tell stories so well now, T.F., why not just start there. Write about a spoiled little prince, who from the outside looking in clearly had it all, but maybe things weren’t so great. Tell a story about a penniless writer who happened to be his long lost twin, and they traded shoes for one day. Maybe the writer will see it’s not all as glamorous as it looks, and will hurry and want to trade back. But before he gets home the Prince pops out of the shadow and kills him, out of desperation to keep his simple little life Hmm?” Gale shook his head, and closed his eyes a moment,

“And if you are going to assume things about me, best you use my proper title. It’s Saint-Laurence, and where I come from I’m not called Mister. It’s Young Master. Paint me to be a rich little failure, you better damn make it count.”

If there were criticisms directed at the Healing Hut or the Healer, herself, Tulojow gave little indication of it as she continued her cursory examination of Darian.  Little of the Nightingale's comments came as a surprise to the Ojibwe Healer; she'd come across similar sentiments in countless places before and understood it well enough. 

There was a deep divide between many traditional cultures and formalized medicine, whether magical or mundane.  Tulojow's grandmother had been a Midewiwin - a traditional community Healer - and, even after a modern hospital facility had opened on the reservation, most - especially in the older generations - preferred to go to Tulojow's grandmother over the hospital.  Tradition was suspicious of modern technique and the modern medicinal arts usually left little room for tradition. 

Tulojow had been trained in both traditional practices at home and during her travels as well as the modern healing technique in school.  There were reasons beyond her shattered knee that led her to keep the school's hospital facilities in the cabin rather than return them to the repaired, white, sterile hospital wing.  But, the old ways were still very much under fire from the modern.  And, pride was a volatile element.  She understood. 

Despite the understanding, the tone in the room wasn't conducive to healing. 

"The source of Healing is less the issue than the skill necessary to utilize it effectively and thoroughly.  In the future," Tulojow cut in with a firm but not unfriendly tone, glancing towards Nightingale.  "Know that you can bring anything my way.  If you have concerns about my techniques that make you hesitant to do so, I invite you to address those with me before the next time your faced with where to bring an injured individual.  Especially before you start working on fire charms with your first years." 

"Now, returning to my initial question," Tulojow looked pointedly between Darian and the retreating Nightingale.  "Are any of your injuries caused by magic or are they all straight flesh wounds?  If you are unsure, I'll assume there's some potential magical contamination." 

Tulojow pointed Tapenda towards a granite mortar and pestile in one of the cupboards.  "Grind the seeds into a thick paste.  There's some white cream in my bag over there you can mix into it."

"If there is not anything you need from me, I'm going to excuse myself."

Gale was addressing Tulojow, but it was not Tulojow who answered him. "Thank you," Darian said, wonderfully contrite. He turned his head on the cot to give Gale his warmest, most pleasant smile. Despite the cuts and bruised-blood skin it was a sweet and open expression, honest as the blue of Darian's deep-sea eyes. "I really do appreciate your help. Go on and get my blood cleaned off you, and a good night's sleep."

Better for Gale to be up at the castle than present, excitable, and nasty. Leave him in the alley, indeed! Darian appreciated being told to shut up and sit still about as much as the next man, and there was no need to ask Tappy how he felt about it. Darian could hear the crack of seed hulls under tension even from here.

"Now, returning to my initial question, are any of your injuries caused by magic or are they all straight flesh wounds?"

His pink tongue crept out to probe at the salt-metal taste of his split lower lip. There was a long hesitation. "I don't remember," Darian admitted at last. "Not at first, I don't think, and I don't know what they did once I was out."  His brow furrowed in thought, a near Herculean effort with the drums in his temples. "There was perhaps... there was something. Lights. But I was casting as well." And drunk besides, though he wouldn't say that in front of Tapendra. It wouldn't have taken a tripping hex to make him lose his balance. He felt he should be alarmed at the holes in his memory, blurry and ill-formed like a half-arsed Obliviate, but though he could manage charm fear did not come so naturally. Worrying took too much effort.

Or so he thought, until - his wand! Darian surged up from the table at the very thought, setting joints to cracking and a burst of dizziness to momentarily white out his vision. His ribs knifed a hot pain, his eyelids flared, but even that was less important than his grasping fingers towards - oh, yes, there was its end. Darian slumped again, greatly relieved. Merlin bless that prickly Nightingale. He must have shoved it back in Darian's boot.

Tapendra was surprised he didn't crack the marble as his hand gripped it. Good gods, did this bloated little tick not realize what an utter ass he was being? Tapendra realized that Gale probably didn't, which just made it worse. His shoulders tensed and he was physically struggling not to turn on the man and, in effect, lose his job. The little twat was doing everything in his power to get Tapendra to kill him, it seemed.

Maybe that was his plan - get Tapendra angry enough to lash out and then go crying to the Headmaster and get the other man fired. And for what? Raising an eyebrow at his odd behavior and not instantly forgiving him for being a nasty prick? Tapendra wasn't sure if Gale needed a punch in the face as much as a metaphorical spanking for being such a petulant child.

That thought, in the midst of the red haze that was descending over his mind, was funnier than he really expected, and probably more than it actually was. He couldn't help the soft snort of laughter at the mental image, his grin one that showed clearly the anger that was close to eclipsing all else.

Tulojow's order gave him something to focus on and he quickly got to that, his hands shaking. Thankfully it was also a task that he could put some strength into, and he was soon grinding the seeds with a bit more vigor than was, strictly speaking, necessary.

Gale was a sucker when it came to a pretty smile, and Darian held just that. He stopped at the door long enough to return his own, and closed the distance between them.

"Nothing to thank me for, you just get better ok? I hope you feel better soon, and it seems you are in good hands." He pulled the cover over Darian, but washing his blood off became his every will and desire.

"Have a good evening, Tulojow, Trishna. Send for me if you need anything." And with that he was gone, happy to be free from the hut and free from the night as now all he could think about was a nice long bath and his bed.

Even without much in the way of a thorough examination, it was safe to say the man's injuries were not very severe.  He seemed for more concerned with sharing flamboyant pleasantries and dramatic gestures with his rescuers-turned-audience than he was with his marred and tender body.  Darian and the new Charms Professor seemed to share a similar taste for the dramatic.  Tulojow's lips pursed and both eyebrows raised in patient bemusement as Nightingale crossed to Darian's side, again, and cosseted over him. 

The Healer cast Tapendra a curious glance but the man's features were taught with barely contained anger.  The task she'd set him to had been a well-matched on.  If he didn't have the seeds in front of him, Tulojow wasn't sure what he would have found to grind his hands against. 

Darian gasped in pain and Tulojow turned back towards him.  "Lean forward," she instructed, drawing one end of the table more upright and reaching an arm out to help support the man to minimize any extra movement in his torso.  It was inevitable that the bruised - or, perhaps, cracked - ribs would hurt, but only for the briefest of moments.  The cabin door swung closed with a quiet click behind them, signaling Nightingale's departure.  "We'll assume magic was used." 

Tension seemed to still linger in the air, even after Nightingale's departure.  "A beautiful maiden is talking a stroll around the castle when she hears, 'Hey! Down here!'  Looking around, she sees a small frog down by the moat and picks it up," Tulojow started to explain, her expression level as she touched the point of her wand to several points along Darian's spine.  "'Hi-I'm really a banjo player but an evil witch has put a spell on me and turned me into a frog. If you would kiss me I can return to my normal self and we can live happily ever after...' The beautiful maiden smiles and puts the frog in her purse. 'Hey! Aren't you going to kiss me?' shouts the frog. 'No way-a talking frog is worth a lot more than a banjo player!'" 

Even as she spoke, flashes of cold spread throughout Darians' body as the nerves along his back were blocked and grew numb. 

Tulojow pulled him upright, laying the tip of her wand down his back. Slowly his spine went numb - a thoroughly strange feeling, and a cold one - but more important, she had begun to tell him a story and that was very... well, that was very charming, really. Darian could recognize a distraction when he saw one, but the novelty of it was such that he didn't much care. A story, honestly! What a delightful woman. He laughed in pleasant surprise at the ending, smiling up at her as she finished.

"Oh, that was wonderful. Another, please?"