The rest of the time the healer needed was spent in silence, which Freya certainly didn't mind. She wasn't that much of a talker anyway. After all, as a rogue, she had taught herself to hide, pickpocket and to stay out of the hands of the guards. Keeping those things in mind, Freya always found that being silent suited these things the best, and had taught herself to do so. Throughout the years, the lack of words had simply became something normal to her, no longer considering to talk unless there was a need to, or pleasant company to talk with. Lately she had had Harol's company, which she found exceptionally pleasant, yet she enjoyed it more to listen to him talking than actually talking herself. And with the healer being a complete stranger to her, Freya didn't see how or why she should try to start up a conversation with her.

During the silence Freya found her mind wandering off again, this time causing her to think of the happening that caused her wound: the ambush at the bridge. Harol and she had done quite a good job back at the bridge, if she could say so herself. Though Freya had to admit that she wasn't particularly proud of what she had done. Of course, the two of them had acted out of self defence, as the guards would've caught and probably had the two of them sentenced to death or at the very least prison if they didn't, but still... those men, the ones they had killed, had a families, a mother and father, maybe a sibling, loving them and caring for them. There were without a doubt married men between them too, and maybe some even had children. Now, those families, wives and children would never see their beloved one again. The wives were widows that would have to explain to their children why daddy wouldn't be coming home again. Those families would be grieving for the death of their son, husband and father, who had been killed for following the king's orders and attacking Freya and Harol. And Freya felt awful for what she had done. Not that she hadn't ever killed someone before, but that was something entirely different. Before, it was personal, and the guards she killed back then hadn't been innocent. No, the man had murdered her husband, claiming when Freya held a knife against his throat, that he enjoyed the act of killing her husband, but wished that the moment had lasted longer. That man had deserved to die.

Once again Freya's thoughts were interrupted, this time by Harol entering the room again, just a moment after her wound had been bandaged, though more properly this time. The healer and the younger one got up and left the room again, no more need for them to be there anymore.