On Patrol (Continued from Let's Go to the Prancing Pony)

[Bêthberry]

Seeing Gandalf fall under the chilling vapours did disturb and worry Bethberry profoundly. She grabbed her leather bag and brought out some vials and tinctures. She gave some feverfew to Birdie to chew on, hoping that would help her headache, and then she ran to Gandalf's side.

He was in a stiff faint and his head and neck were cold, too cold. She held a vial of oils from camphor and bethroot under his nostrils, hoping the pungent aroma and cough remedy would clear his lungs. At first, it was to no effect. She tried a second time, and then a third, holding the vial in place longer and pressing on his chest sharply and rhymically with her free hand, hoping to force him to breathe deeply.

Suddenly, he sputtered and gulped deeply. He came to, his eyes open, but they were clouded and dazed. He appeared dazed, disoriented.

Gandalf, do you know me? demanded Bethberry. You must reply; fight the urge to sleep; come, sit up. There are too many of us here who have been troubled. I will need to prepare some lemon balm tea for us all to calm our nerves. Perhaps more for you. But sit up you must. She held the vial once again under his nose, letting the pungeant aroma do its work.

[ June 26, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]