Jillian eyed the new arrivals with caution and skepticism, not knowing what to make of them. Renold was apparently familiar at least with the elderly woman, from which she concluded that this ‘Crone’ must have lived in Anaxim, or at least have been a regular visitor. Thinking about it, she faintly recalled having heard that very name before while she was in Gariel Downs. Gerald must have mentioned it in some context she failed to remember. Perhaps she was one of the forest’s guardians as well, as it turned out; she certainly seemed powerful enough to be in such a position. It would make sense, then, that she would have fled the doomed forest to meet up with the elder dragon, yes. That still left the question as to who this wounded one was that she was tending to. Another guardian? Was he equally powerful?

“Reina, Lady of Mercy,” Crone uttered, beseeching the goddess of humans for a miracle. Jillian’s eyes narrowed, her body becoming rigid, as she anticipated what would follow. This Crone had proven her skill as a magician so far, no doubt, but this was no sorcery. Simple prayer would not help this man, so could it be that she was a favored one? It was not impossible, even if unlikely, but at her age… well, she certainly would have had the time to master multiple disciplines, if she still had the presence of mind to remember it all. Could she do it, Jillian wondered?

As the witch took another wary step forward, a soothing light began to shine from the old woman’s hands, glimmering from in between her shriveled fingers. With care, she bathed every inch on the man’s body in this light, as Jillian had seen the priests and priestesses of Reina do before. She held the acolytes of Reina in high regard – their work was a good one, pure of intent and purpose – even if she was not destined to be one of them. It seemed that Jillian simply lacked the compassionate and nurturing nature required to mend the ailing of others, for the only thing she had ever shown competence for was the art of destruction. She broke friendships, she broke hearts, had burned things and burned people, and to this day she felt not a tinge of regret; at least, none she would admit.

Before long, the ritual of healing was complete, and the man’s wounds were no more. Crone rose up from the ground, not significantly gaining in height because of it, and began to fill the man in on what had happened to him.

“You are fortunate to have survived,” she told him in that creaky voice of hers, “none others shared that fate.”

Then, for the first time since arriving, she acknowledged the presence of others on the scene, looking each of them in the eyes in turn – Gerald, Renold and also Jillian. Her gaze was calm and lacked the curiosity and severity that was present in Jillian’s own. It was as if her old eyes had already seen everything there was to see in this world, including the three individuals present. It was strange feeling that Crone evoked, but oddly disarming. Somewhere, Jillian wondered if this too was some kind of spell, or if she was merely becoming paranoid.

Meanwhile, the healed one slowly came to his senses and sprang to life. His first reaction was to reach for the hilt of his weapon, before coming to the realization that he was in no immediate danger and calming down again. Ignorant of his surroundings for the moment, he first inspected his own, regenerated form before eventually becoming aware of his company. Oddly, he made no sound, nor spoke, until a strikingly reminiscent howling in the wind brought for a sudden realization.

“Where are we exactly? What happened with the battle?” a disembodied voice asked, an unseen specter in the evening gust.

[i]It’s him![/i] Jillian thought, finally recognizing Salas for who he was. [i]It’s the wind mage from Gariel Downs! That raggedy vagabond, I wonder how he made it. Saved by Crone to be sure; perhaps she did all the work for him. What happened to the battle you wonder? We lost it, is what! No thanks to people like you, I’m sure.[/i]

“Not far from Pelgaid,” Jillian chimed in, having gradually approached the pair over the past minute, “and the battle is decidedly lost, I’m told. The forest is in flames, and everybody died, including the crusaders. You’ll be pleased to hear that everybody important is still alive, however, and that Kevalorn did not get what he came for.”

Jillian’s tone was sharp and condescending as she spoke, standing not too far from Salas with her blanket wrapped around her meager shoulders. She was evidently still upset over what Gerald had done moments before, and it poisoned her attitude.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I’d be happy to hear just why you insist on using your silly spell to talk. And while at it,” Jillian added, her voice becoming gentler and her eyes shifting to Crone, “just… who are you? Unlike the others here, I am not familiar to you, and I’d very much like to know more. And I don’t mean your name.”

The witch’s eyes remained fixated on those of the ancient one, as she shuffled yet closer until practically in arm’s reach.