There are hands on him. The blinding pain wracking his frame seems to flare at every contact point drawing long whimpering wails from him. He wants to fight beck, to push them away, to be freed from the pain they are causing him, but it's too much to ask of his body right now. His voice grows harsh as it tightens and his breath begins coming out in gasps. He'd been so close, so far in, and to tear him from it like that, even the magic of the land feels the wound. Somewhere in the back of his pain filled mind he knows he has to go back, he has to heal the wound before some foolish farmer tears into it with a hoe or some foolish couple redirects it with their passions. No knowledge lasts long however, nothing coherent passing his scrambled mind into conscious thought.

Even with the instruction of “gently” the young men who lift the kirin off the ground are a little less than delicate with the creature. If there's anything folks in a small town don't like it's something they can't understand, especially if it seems to have spooked the local oddity herself. Confusion and fear reins even as they follow the woman's instruction and every time he jerks like he's trying to escape the hold on all the tighter. The whimpers and cries go unheeded as they make their way back towards town, a good number of the townsfolk following behind, their curiosity overriding their fear.

At the edge of town something new enters the mage's mind and refuses to leave. This new thing, this light thing, wraps around him and slowly begins easing his pain. He seeks it out, tries to look at it , to draw it in, but as his mind begins to clear he slowly realizes that he recognizes the thing and leaves it alone to do it's work. [i]'It is the thing. That thing the spirit put inside me. It is working its way through me and. . .'[/i] he can't quite see it clearly just yet but as he flexes his arms he realizes consciously for the first time that he's being carried. His first instinct is to fight, to pull away. He doesn't like the feeling of someone's hands on him, it brings back bad memories. The only hands he does not push away are not here, can not be here, so these should not be tolerated.

However, even as he begins to twist, to try and remove himself, the hands tighten and he lets out a small yelp, his eyes flying open. The thing inside has done it's work for the kirin and decides to settle for now, leaving Chall wide awake and alert. Glancing up to the left and the right he feels his panic only growing. Large men have him, and his magic is still far to wounded to aid his escape without seriously injuring not only his captors, but the gathering of people at their backs. So many eyes, all watching him. The fear, the unease, and in some cases, the anger and despise. He begins to shakes slightly. This is not a good situation to be in. This. . .This is not safe.

Suddenly they are inside a house. His focus on those around him kept him from even noticing anything about their goal and with a light shock he realizes that they are inside a dark, warm room. His eyes dart about, spotting the creature in the rafters first before noticing the man laid out on the table. His eyes go impossibly wide at the sight of the strong, kind man who had cared for him through his suffering and provided him with much needed shelter and aid, laid out like a man on his deathbed. He can feel his anger flare, but then out of the corner of his eye he spots the meant who's deposited him on the ground looking ready to pound him into a pulp and fear overrides his anger.

His tail, which had been lashing back and forth, wraps around his waist in fear, completely stilling as he tries to become as small and unnoticeable as possible. Then, at last, another familiar “face” appears and the tip twitches a little, his ears quivering. The smells of the house begin making sense to the frightened young man as he recalls the scent left behind of the person Wren said treated his wound and after a few deep breaths he's sure this is the hedge witch he'd spoken of. [i]'She is the local magic user. Simple stuff, not the stuff like I was doing, and, she live here, in this town. Magic is not unheard of, right?'[/i] His mind begins grasping at these facts, trying to use them to calm himself even as one of the men looms intimidatingly.

He watches as she looks back and forth between himself and Wren, and it becomes clear she wants him to do something. Unfortunately, he's still too frightened and confused to comprehend just what she expects of him. [i]'He is ill, sickly, but what am I? I am not a healer, I do not know how to treat human sickness. I can bind wounds, I can. . .'[/i] Much to his relief she shoos the others out of the building, the lack of critical eyes doing wonders from his concentration. A hand slips under his arm and he finds himself automatically climbing to his feet as the elderly woman tries to draw him to his feet. He finds his feet moving forward and for the first time he recognizes that it's not an illness plaguing the human, it's something else entirely.

“How did this?” Like before he completely locks out anything not related to the task before him and with gentle motions he reaches out and begins examining the man's cold, frail looking body. He doesn't sense Marge moving around behind him, trying to see what he's doing, doesn't see the goblin overhead watching him intently. All that matters is this man, this kind, good man, who now lay ravaged by. . . .Something. He feels a faint tug, not on his flesh, but on his magic, and without hesitation he lets it race forward. He trust his magic sense almost more then he trusts his physical senses, and when it lances out into a unseen wound in the man's chest, making his body shudder, he realizes quickly that he is indeed the right person for the job.

[i]'This feels like what the spirit put inside me, but, it almost feels like it entered through a hollow that was already there, tearing it further. . .The spirit had no malice, it would not have caused this on purpose. It likes the humans of this town, I can not. . .He is so cold'[/i] A trickle of his own life enters his magic, his will to see the man get better guiding his actions and movements. Behind him the hedge witch watches his magic flow freely into her friend and wonders how he can so easily slip inside another's body and manipulate it. She knows there are greater magics out there, but with what was happening to her friend the idea that it would accept such an invasion in such a weakened state is nearly unthinkable.

His eyes slide close, he can feel his magic draining even though it is slowly being bolstered by the gift the spirit gave him. He can feel Wren's heartbeat, growing steadily stronger beneath his care, he can spell the fresh scents of the man replacing the almost decayed scent that had been hanging about his skin. His magic binds and twists it's way around the man's own, something so soft and subtle that Chall hadn't even noticed it before. It's quiet, soft, gentle, and unassuming. With each pass more and more life returns to Wren until at last Chall lets out a shuddering gasp and his eyes snap open. He's never done anything like it before and the new feeling is almost frightening. It would have terrified him if. . .If it hadn't felt so oddly familiar.

He feels a hand on his back which almost makes him jump until he realizes he's been swaying on his feet. Looking around his ears droop and his tail falls limp, the impact of what he'd done hitting him like a rampaging beast and forcing him to his knees. The woman carefully helps him to a chair where she sets him up with some invigorating tea before moving to her friend's side to check on him. He's still unconscious, but he looks more like he's sleeping now than anything else. However once more Chall's eyes dart to the ceiling and he watches those glittering eyes in the darkness staring back at his. [i]'That. . . .Is a rare sight. . .'[/i] His mind slowly begins tumbling over and over, his magic weak and trembling after it's endeavor.

He tries to imagine what the spirit is planning, recalling how he'd sent something off towards the town with a simple breath, and wonders wildly what this human could have to do with anything. He'd been inside the man, seen a bit of him it seems he's been trying to conceal for a very long time, but still, none of it makes sense to the kirin. He can't quite grasp the meanings, he can't quite understand what all is needed of him. He knows he must return to the lay lines, he must repair them, but he also knows trying to do so in such a state will only cause either further damage, or his own death. [i]'But, something must be done, soon. . . .'[/i] His looks slowly over at the woman's back, her head still bent to the task of dealing with Wren, and in a soft voice murmurs, “The land is wounded.”

Marge turns to look at the young kirin, raising an eyebrow at him. Swallowing he looks back at her, his weakened state causing his words to come more slowly than usual. “The lines, they were. . .They were torn. Someone's will other than my own entered into them and tore them. It is. . . Not safe to disturb them now. They need to be protected until I can fix them. No one. . .No one should be around them now. . .” Understanding flashes in her eyes and she turns, heading for the door. There are still a few people gathered outside and Chall can hear her talking to one. He hopes she's instructing whoever it is to alert everyone to the fact that they need to stay away from the spot. He goes over his own words, wondering who's will it was that tore the lines.

[i]'I suppose it could have been the spirit. He told me that the task given to me was not the one given by man, so, he could have been trying to redirect me. Or, if Wren was already sick, it could have been the woman's. He will for me to help him, or to use the magic itself to aid him. . .'[/i] He doesn't know, and at the moment can't think of any reason that he needs to know right away. His ears perk up as he hears movement overhead and he looks up to see the goblin getting more comfortable. Without preamble he says softly, “It is rare to see your kind about in places such as this. I suppose you are supplied good meals here with this woman?” He speaks softly, Marge still far enough away as to not overhear him.

Hibble simply stares back at the kirin, having no obligation to converse with the man. He is curious, and a little impressed with what the mage had managed to accomplish, he thinking Wren lost, but he is not the goblin's charge, and he'd rather not be caught talking to him when his charge does return. She thinks of him in a certain way, and he's perfectly content with her to continue thinking that.

Chall is a little disappointed that the creature refuses to speak with him but is soon distracted by the woman returning to the room. He looks to her expectantly, his tail swishing curiously back and forth with renewed vigor from her tea. She give him a nod and he is able to relax slightly, sipping more of the drink. [i]'Good. . . .Good. . . .'[/i] Letting out a soft sigh he looks to Wren, watching as the color finally returns completely to his cheek, his heartbeat picking up as she signal that he's about to wake. Unsure of what to say to the man Chall tucks his feet up under his robe and tries to shrink a bit into the chair he'd been lead to. He unsure if the man will be upset, will demand an explanation, and Chall also fears the implications of it all. It was clear before that while he did not hate magic, he had no great love for it either, and to find out that not only had magic almost killed him, but that Chall now knows that he has it too, seems like the kind of thing that may upset even this kind, quiet man.