Cecil was right, staying around would draw all kinds of attention to them, attention they didn't want or need. They couldn't afford to be stuck here a day or two while the guards tried to sort everything out, hopefully their new friend could work things out in their favor then. Finding a healer was the foremost item on their list and once everyone was patched up, Saints willing, they could leave without any problems. They couldn't go just yet though... Weren't they missing someone? Speaking of healers why wasn't Zander with them? Or Geoffrey? Ethan knew he hadn't seen them among the bodies and yet they weren't outside either, so where had they gone? Maybe the constant fighting they were going through was too much for them, if that was the case he couldn't blame them. This was supposed to be a peaceful, solitary trek to find lost loved ones and all of this fighting, there was no reason for any of it. If they wanted to go their separate ways then that was perfectly fine. 

"R-Right, a healer. We need to find a healer..." Ethan agreed with a nod, still numb as he blankly turned his head towards Wyth. The moorcat was injured too and one leg nearly hobbled, could he be asked to walk? Unfortunately Wyth was much too large for any of them to comfortably carry with the exception of Cecil and he had Amuné now, the poor animal would have to walk. 

"Look for Nan, she's an old herbalist in town, works wonders for guards back on patrols. Let her know I sent you, she'll see you right as rain. Her shop is back by the markets, little thatch building just off the central road, can't miss it."

Right, Nan the herbalist, they'd find her. They sure were spending an awful lot of time getting patched up as of late weren't they? Smiling ruefully Ethan took a quick look at the group to gauge how well everyone could move, turning back to thank the guard and blinking at the absence of one. The single man who had been left was gone too, hadn't they just been there a second ago? Where did they go so quickly? Whatever, they had to get moving before anything else happened, they needed medical attention. "Nymira, are you okay to walk? I can help you if you need it."

"Please, I was knocked around, not crippled. I'll be fine Ethan," the Dimuran answered as she placed a hand at the cut on her head, "Just... Take it a bit slowly, will you? For Wyth's sake." Things spun still and her head throbbed painfully but Nymira wouldn't say as much, she didn't want to tie them up any longer than need be. Even if she had to hobble alongside Wyth she'd walk under her own power, both pride and urgency dictated she did so. Waiting for Ethan to lead on she kept in stride beside Cecil instead, keeping her eyes on Wyth to be sure he didn't fall behind either. "You both did great today, I truly mean that," Nymira spoke, offering the smallest of smiles to the moorcat and Machina, "Perhaps I was wrong in doubting you, it seems you're perfectly capable of handling yourselves and protecting others. I'd almost say I'm proud to be able to fight alongside you." Maybe it was the blow to the head but she felt rather sentimental right now. Or perhaps all of the fighting and more recently the slavery was reminiscent of events back home, who knew. Was she getting homesick? She hadn't the time for that, there were still cities to visit and alliances to be forged.

The crowds had thinned somewhat since their frenzied search had began and thankfully Nan's shop wasn't terribly difficult to find as a result. The guard had been right in saying it was a small building, compared to those made of stone and brick at its side it seemed terribly out of place. The inside of the shop was no different, before even passing through the door one could smell several different herbs and various remedies inside, permeating through the thin walls and soaking the adjacent road in an odd mix of odors. Poor Wyth's head was probably spinning from the assault on his nose. Nan herself was every bit what one might expect from a small town herbalist: an older woman using a cane to help herself walk, her wrinkled face lit with worry as soon as their ragtag group walked in. Calling for her assistant, a younger man whose hair fell to the middle of his back, the two of them frantically went about seeing to the injured.

Wyth was seen to first, his wounds were all either superficial or easily mended, nothing a cleansing wash and some bandages and gel couldn't soothe. He would have to tread lightly for a while and avoid running but his wounds would heal within a few days, assuming the medicine took. Asta's wounds required particular attention and for that the assistant took her aside to work on her, making sure every injury great and small was cleaned and covered, in some regards leaving her looking almost mummified. How convenient it had been having Zander around, their wounds which would have taken moments to heal now may require a full week even with the aid of the potions and salves. Nymira's injuries were not terrible save for the gash on her head, giving Nan cause for concern she may have suffered a concussion. True or not the Dimuran was adamant about not remaining in Warren for another day, citing having to meet family as a reason to leave to which the old woman had to finally relent. Some herbs to help soothe nausea then was supplied and extra cloth for gauze, should any wounds reopen. Casual as ever with her funds Nymira had perhaps overpaid on the purchases, if Nan's near-faint was any indication, though Nymira had given her extra not only for the aid but to buy her silence, even if it wasn't said outright. Assuming the guard from earlier held up his word no one would know where they went, which was good considering any intrusions from the guard would delay them.

Cleaned and bandaged now the group could retrieve their cart and be on the way. Back down to only four in the group, five counting Wyth, they didn't need nearly as much as they had on them. Nymira voted they leave some behind and Ethan argued they keep it, better to be safe than sorry. At worst they could hand some off to another traveler on their journeys if their cargo proved too much, and eventually the vote to keep the supplies won out. Horses were drawn up with Ethan taking Jorvind and Amuné in his lap. Nymira, Cecil and Wyth would ride along in the other, the latter two in a smaller cart purchased from the stables. In their current state, bandaged and exhausted, it would appear they had just come from a war, and in some ways it wasn't wholly off. If fortune favored them they wouldn't have to do anything quite so dangerous in their next stop, though given their recent track record no one would be surprised to run into trouble.

Ethan didn't know what to think anymore about his journey. He'd been elated at first to find company, first in Amuné and then Cecil, and finally Nymira as well. How long had it been since they'd met? A week? Maybe two? Not that long and yet so much had happened, a good deal of which he would just as soon forget. In trying to avoid harming others men had been killed, in trying to keep out of the spotlight they had somehow drawn the ire of Church members, and in wanting to make the trip alone he now had companions. Not that he could complain, those who were still with him were considered as close as could be by now, he supposed fighting did that to you. There was a certain bittersweet knowledge however knowing while they traveled together their paths would diverge eventually, each had their own course to take and they couldn't remain together forever. Ethan prayed to whatever Saints might listen that their journeys would end well, that each of them would get whatever it was they were seeking. After all they'd endured and what was to come it only seemed fitting, suffer a little to be rewarded in the end. Maybe it was naivete or optimism, or simply being a plain fool, but Ethan liked to think things would still work out for them. "Just a little bit longer, Cedric. Hold on..."

Nymira couldn't believe how poorly her journey was going so far. She'd managed to secure the loyalty of a single town in her weeks of travel, a town so pitifully small that its population barely equaled half of her clan. A fine relationship to have if you had many allies but a poor one when it was all you could count on. How long would she have to travel until she found something worthwhile? East Orosi had ended in a slaughter, Warren had been promising until events took a turn for the worse, prompting them to leave. If her clan was to thrive and her people find reason to follow her lead she had to prove capable, she had to prove both her and her father's ideals were not simply empty dreams, but a reality obtainable through hard work. She refused to relent even if she'd had no success yet, sooner or later something would come through. It had to, she was one of Ralthor's chosen, blessed with his gift of magic and heiress to the Rumia clan. She refused to let those go to waste, she had to make something of her journey and return with good news, anything less was simply unacceptable.