Agitation

[Dulcie]

"She was a beast and now a woman?" Well that was making a great deal more sense now. She moved slowly, and cautiously, trying to pull back just enough of the cloak near her shoulder to see if she could watch the wound on the girl's shoulder. She wanted to see the rate by which it was healing itself.

"She can stay at the Rememdium until the wounds are healed. After that we'll have to find her somewhere that she can stay more permanently. Can you ask her if she can stay in this form? It would be dangerous to the other patients at the Rememdium if she were to change into a beast. I know that some shifters have a harder time controlling themselves when they are injured." She was already thinking through solution, examining the different angles that she had available to her.

"Are you a shifter as well Miss?" It was a valid question, considering the pair spoke the same language.

[Rance]

The girl gave a look to the once-cha'har that was both incredulous and hurt, enough so that she placed a hand against her muddy chest, like a proper woman, as if to say, me? It was certainly no place to discuss her hygiene, not when matters of mud and horse-droppings had not entirely been her own choice.

She was about to say something to the woman, though, in that hard, tongue-curling language, when Janessa spoke again, and the seamstress turned her attention to the wellsmith, her bare hand squeezing Greets's, the only reassurance she could offer.

"Oh, no, I am no shifter, Wellsmith," the girl said, with considerable surprise. "I would not know how to do this shifting if my life depended on it! I would be the worst -- I might find myself turning into an otter, or worse, an elephant. You see? No, we just speak the same."

And how they spoke the same, or by what providence, was beyond her, but it was not enough to distract her from the new responsibilities she had been granted. With her damp skirts dragging up around her, she stood and tried to help Greets do the same, a gloved hand underneath her elbow, speaking just for them: "Od ar'da mit do J'erno? Zoor ar'da mit do cha'har?"

Then, she thrust a black-fabric finger toward Janessa, and said, "Menna Wellsmith," because she was regretfully unaware of the woman's name, even for as many times as she might have seen her when going to visit Master Cherny. Her finger shifted, and pointed toward Blake. "Messa Caplin. Ha'dloc," said with insistence. "Ha'dloc." Friends.

[BlakeCaplin]

Blake would shake his head as Gloria made fast friends, or at least slow dinner, with the shifter. There was a wave to the orange haired girl, as it felt as if Gloria has just introduced them. Then for Janessa,

"I think the rememdium might be a good idea. As for he ability to hold this form, I certainly do not know. It could have been the collar holding her in the other form, or it could have been her own will. She could just have reached an age where she learned how to do this. to be honest with you I know so little about such things that it's really not worth mentioning at all. I do, however believe she could benefit from your attention with that wound."

A look to Gloria then.

"Tell her that this lady here is a healer. That she can help. That she should go with her until she feels better."

To be honest, all of this was a bit out of Blake's field of expertise, which currently consisted of little more than mucking stalls and the occasional assistance of deaf boys. He would offer the shifter girl a warm smile, and another for Gloria. They had to stick together in this. It seemed the right thing to do.

[Greets]

Greets listens to the gibberish the healer speaks, trying to make sense of it. It had taken her awhile to pick up what she knows of Gloria’s language. So not only does she need to relearn how to walk, she also needs to learn how to communicate for a third time. She watches the seamstress and healer intently, as if force of will alone will bring sense to their words.

She allows Gloria to assist her to stand. *I would give much to have my tail back.* A fleeting shiver of ginger fur slides across her form but does not stay. Colors and scents sharpen for a moment and she blinks in surprise. *That is a good question.* Her only reply though is “Sk’oll.” Though her look is pensive.

Once Gloria points out Janessa, introducing her, Greets repeats the words said and points – “Menna Wellsmith” with a heavy accent. She does the same with Blake – “Messa Caplin.” Returning his wave like a parrot. She turns her attention back to Gloria. “Aso Ha'dloc?”

[Dulcie]

The healer didn't look convinced when Blake talked about the girl's ability to hold her form, and the state that they had found her in. The collar was concerning in particular. She'd look to him and frown slightly, the gentle motion on her face seeming almost out of place on the woman's usual calm and sweet countenance.

"I'm not sure if I can justify taking her to the Rememdium, not without more information. The Doctor and I have discussed what we would do if the werewolf in town were injured, as she poses a similar risk, and we still haven't come to good resolution on it. Someone with the ability to harm so many others when hurt or afraid just can't be allowed to be around the most vulnerable patients."
She paused again, giving the girl who just called her by the name Gloria had given her, considering the task at hand. "She certainly can't stay here. No, that wouldn't do at all." The stables were an unsanitary place at best, and at worst she could only imagine the horrors that could come from leaving a young, naked, unaware woman out in a stable that had such frequent comings and goings.

"She'll have to come with me, to my home. It's close to the Rememdium so I can get supplies and the Doctor Brennan's opinion, but far enough away so that if she did for some reason lose control of her form that she wouldn't harm anyone else." Of course that would leave Janessa in some peril were that to come about, but the healer didn't speak of it. "Miss Gloria, if you could help get her to agree to come to my home I think that would be best. And Mister Caplan, if you could assist us in getting her there it would be greatly appreciated. I'm not sure how comfortable I feel letting her walk on her own. Perhaps we could call for a carriage?"

[Rance]

She and Blake had unfinished business, and that she knew. Now, she was committed to her note, and while she had not yet heard word from the good Marshall or the firehearted Councilwoman, she feared she had broken secrets like a bad secret-keeper.

But, with Greets and Janessa nearby, the young seamstress kept her calm like the glove on her palm, listened carefully to their instructions, and then tilted her head back to Greets. She kept her motions always calm, always steady, never to startle. That was how one handled rat'vak, if not already giving them marks with a splintered cane; that, too, was how one dealt with once-cha'har.

She could not easily explain the nature of friends. She squeezed the once-cha'har's hand, a reassurance, before she said to both Blake and Janessa: "I will tell her these things, and where you believe she should go, I will come. She should have a voice. You see? Someone who may calm her if she gets frightened -- if the striped beast decides to show back up."

Gloria Wynsee, stupid and afraid girl, seamstress, uniformess of the Marshall, betrayer of friends, and now, great communicator with beasts that nearly chewed gutters into her throat.

"Menna Wellsmith, Messa Caplin, Glour'eya -- h'adloc. Tumos," she said, placing a little pressure on the girl's hand, taking small, steady steps in mud-spattered boots, holding high her hand to lead the shifter, a wary quiver rattling through her fingers. "Tumos, k'a do Menna Wellsmith ent-ent'aerosk--" before she made a motion of free fingers to mouth, and chomped on a phantom piece of food, to promise that there would be victuals there. Cha'har liked food, did they not?

Then, to Blake: "Messa Caplin, walk or ride, the decision is yours, though I fear her legs will not carry her quickly -- if at all -- to the Wellsmith's residence. Perhaps a hay-cart," she suggested. "A thing we will not be trapped within, if the claws come back."

[BlakeCaplin]

Blake watched the trio curiously. Leave it to the women to complicate things. And to leave it to him to make a choice. There was a shake of his head, as he looked to Gloria, the only one who seemed to be able to communicate with the feline girl.

"Get a carriage, no need to treat her like livestock, a hay cart would just be rude. I'll give you the coin if that is an issue. Healer, if you wish to take her to your home, Gloria will go with you. Between the two of you I believe you can manage this. Remember, she is afraid and all of us are new to her. The more you can talk to her, teach her, the better this will be."

A look to the red-haired girl, and a smile, the action crunching up the large scar on his face.

"These women. You can trust them."

As if to illustrate his point he moved slowly toward each woman embracing them, whether they wanted it or not. A warm hug and a wide smile. Over-exaggerating each motion.

A shurg of his shoulders then as he moved from the stables back toward the inn, and a well earned bath and bowl of stew.

[Greets]

Greets watches Janessa as she speaks with a look of dedicated concentration. Her tail, though not present in her current form, twitches in irritation when the woman’s words still obstinately refuse to make sense. Gloria remained steady, a welcome thing as tentative as she was on two legs still. She concentrates on the seamstress again. If she concentrated enough, perhaps meaning would come as it had before. That was how she learned the mans-tongue she knew. If she tried hard enough meaning would come. It had been unreliable at first but over time she managed to coax it into alignment with enough effort.

She allows Gloria to guide her, her free hand holding the cloak closed at her throat. “Mituma.” She furrows her brow as she tries to puzzle out Gloria’s gesture. Greets shifts her eyes to Gloria’s face, her amber eyes looking deep. Her mind instinctively brushes against the boiling surface of Gloria’s trying to derive meaning from the bits and pieces that drift by before sinking back into the depths.

Eat… food? I smell no food here other than the Wind Runners.

She turns her attention to Blake as he speaks. As she had with Gloria, she concentrates, doing her best to make sense of his words. Unlike Gloria’s mind, his was calmer. His words were clearer. The image of her orange fur and fear was unmistakable, his meaning easily understood.

I don’t fear anymore. Mother’s strength is my own.

She watches him hug Janessa, curious. As he moves to embrace her, she tenses, unsure how to respond to the gesture. She takes a deep breath while he is close to learn his scent. His mind very clearly telling her she can trust them. She is disappointed when he releases her and does the same to Gloria.

As he leaves, Greets takes a wobbly step towards the door, and then another. Her tummy growls, the thoughts of food she picked up from Blake making her own want more than the scrawny Long Ear she had stumbled upon yesterday. She was lucky she had caught it. Her lack of skill and the wound made hunting more than a challenge.

She continues, using Gloria as a tool as she moves and learns how this two legged form works. She surveys the area as she exits the stables. Cold mud squelches between her toes and chills her further.

By the Great Mother, it’s cold!

Her slim form begins to shiver again, doing its best to stave off the chill. “Eme gul’cha! Lu’kame ve.” Her eyes fall on the collar and her lips peel back. A low growl trickles from between her bared teeth. It lies where it fell, a few tufts of orange fur still stuck to it. She watches Janessa and Gloria as they pass, making sure they make no moves towards the hated thing.

Touch it, either one of you, and I will taste your blood.

[Dulcie]

An embrace is given, and while it was unexpected Janessa made it seem as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her arms wrapped delicately about the man that she didn't know, returning the embrace with a warmth and kindness that would make one feel as if they were holding a dear friend. The hug would be released just as easily as it had been returned and she'd offer Blake a soft smile and a gentle incline of her head in acceptance for his advice.

"I can pay for the carriage, thank you for the offer, and for your help." Words as kindly spoken as the hug she had given. A truly gentle soul she was. She'd let Blake depart before turning to Gloria and to the young woman.

"I'm going to ask a stable boy to call us a carriage and we'll be off on our way then. You are of course welcome to stay with me as well, I agree that it's important that she have a voice. I don't have much in the way of hospitality in my home, but I have warm blankets to sleep in and food to eat. I hope that will suffice."

She noted the look the woman had when they were near the collar and she'd look back at the young woman and bow her head softly. She would make no move to touch it, that was obvious. For Gloria however there was a comment.

"I don't think it would be wise to touch that collar. She's clearly been in some sort of captivity." Closer yet she'd go to the door. "While I'm out could you ask her what her name is?" She'd finally step out then, finding a stable boy whom she asks to call her a carriage that could transport the three of them to her home.

[Rance]

When Blake hugged her, the girl froze. Did poor friends deserve hugs? Was this her retribution, for writing to the council about the man's secret? Was this her punishment, to feel that raw, that sour?

"I'm sorry," she whispered in Blake's ear, and then unwound from the hug, to return to her task at the once-cha'har's side. She watched the stableboy step away, and she wanted to break free and catch up to him, tell him that he was not allowed to leave them be -- he had stopped her, had he not?

We have things to discuss, when all of this is over...

Greets had caught her eyes for a moment, and the girl was transfixed, as if duped into a trance. She did not know the way that minds could meet, did not know that they could be studied beyond the delicate touch of shape-sense fingers, that read the skull like a prophet's ball, and did not know that--

The things sensed in her mind, mind a regrettable place of mundane actions: sewing, sewing, seamwork; sewing, sewing, seamwork; a slipped needle and a pinpoint of blood, that hurts, mother sempstress, sewing, sewing, seamwork; will this beast hurt me, chew me into bits--

--the snapping whipcrack of a thorny branch, rising high, falling, striking slaveskin, and the girl was proud, proud, because that was good jernos did--

--sewing, sewing, seamwork; a tilting boat, the spray of frothy motion-sick vomit on old skirts, and afraid; a hand, little silver hand, worked the way other hands did--

She wandered, listless, unaware that the once-cha'har may have pried anything else from her. "Warm blankets to sleep in are all that are needed, Wellsmith. Your kindness is too great. Will you have a dress I could borrow," she asked, for she wore the mud and stable-muck as if it were another layer, and it was starting to get cold and hard on her skin, a problem she realized -- with great disappointment -- that she would need a bath to remedy. "And our friend will need clothes as well. She is growing colder by the minute, and I fear she will catch her death if we do not find her a fire very soon. You see?"

Janessa warned her against touching the color, and her response was a stern nod. It could be left there, for all she cared, left to rust and wither -- instead, she gripped Greets's hand and tried to draw her toward the door, toward the outside, when eventually the rattling bridles of horses came nearer. A carriage.

She would swallow back her fear of horses just this once.

"I think -- I think her name is Greets the Sun," she said to Janessa once they were outside. "I think that is her name."