The slow manner of healing
"Will I tell you what I shall do to make you well, Andhun? Of course I shall. Not a hand shall touch your skin nor a plaster be placed on your wounds, nor a fluid touch your lips without my first explaining the purpose and effect and gaining your consent."
Andhun looked up at her with startled eyes. Never before in his recent experience, at least since the terrible fire, for he could not always remember much before that, had anyone considered his own wishes.
"What does consent mean?" he asked curiously. "Will you make me sign a paper?"
Bethberry would have laughed at the boy's earnestness had not the cruel reality of his question and her recent experience of Hastan stayed her mind. She regreted her eagerness in wanting to bring the boy to the infirmary, without waiting to see if he wanted a friend to accompany him.
"Our trust lies in our word, here at the Vineyard Tavern, Andhun," she replied. "Shall I ask for Rochadan or Cynan to come here, to witness our words, so you will be more comfortable? "
A soft breeze blew gently through the room. The infirmary was a warm and sunny room, with windows on both east and south walls, and the west wall warmed by the heat of the kitchen. In the morning sun, everything looked fresh and bright. Andhun inhaled deeply, sensing the many aromas which the room held. They comforted him, but before he could speak, the Healer herself spoke up.
"Let me call Cynan. I suspect he will be as curious to see this room as you are, and perhaps I may learn something of his mother's health, too."
With that remark, she walked to the door and quietly bid Ćdhral call Cynan to the infirmary.
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