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Leod leapt up and hurried towards the Elven healer, lowering his voice to speak privately with her. "Thank goodness you are here, Nevtaliel. I am at my wits end with Sythric. At least with Brand, I understood what ailed him, even though my herbs were powerless to heal his wounds."
"For the most part, it appears that Sythric's wound is healing. Only there is still one area of redness. Let me show you. But, in truth, it is not the wound that worries me the most. Sythric has been slipping in and out of conciousness for the past two days. I have heard him mutter to himself as if wrestling with a great demon in dreams. Yet I do not understand why this should be so, since his fever is not high."
He led Nevtaliel over to where Sythric was still on his knees, leaning against a great stone and embracing it with his hands. Sythric's cheek was pressed against its jagged surface. He was breathing heavily but slowly. There was a fresh blood stain on his jerkin, although only a spot or two. What was more upsetting was that Sythric's eyes were wide open, yet he seemed oblivious to all that was going on about him.
"I don't understand," mumbled Leod. "He is conscious and awake, yet it is as if something tugs at his mind and pulls him down into dark shadows. He stares out at the camp but sees none of us. Still, in another minute or two, he will pull himself out of this state and begin to talk and act much more normally, though very tired and in considerable pain."
"I have never seen a man act like this. Can you tell me what is wrong?"
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