[center][h3]The Next Morning[/h3][/center][hr]Naya wakes to someone lifting her head and pressing a cup to her lips. On reflex the witch opens her mouth, grimacing when the taste of peppermint and willow bark tea overpowers her tastebuds. “Hng,” she groans, cracking a bloodshot eye to glare blearily up at Dr. Clayburn. “You could have at least ground it up better. It feels like I just swallowed a whole tree branch,” she croaks, her voice raspier than normal from disuse.

“That's enough out of you,” the old man grumbles, easing Naya’s head back down onto the pillow and placing the now empty medicine bowl on the bedside table. “What would your mum say about all this bitchin’ you’re doin’?”

“She’d understand if she’d been subjected to that swill,” Naya shoots back as she starts to sit up, drugged up enough that the pain of her injuries only have her hissing lowly. She'd known the crotchety old doctor since before she could talk and knew he wouldn't take the jab to heart. “Who brought me here?” The witch asks, running a hand down her front to better assess the damage. She's slightly mortified to realize she's only in her small clothes, but pushes the embarrassment aside for now.

“Some armored fella. He's still out in the foyer,” Dr. Clayburn replies, squinting at her from below a bushy eyebrow. “Looks to be with the royal army. I didn't reckon you’d be the type to get tangled up in court business,” the man grumbles, giving the other an irritated look when she goes to redo the bandages on her arm.

“My clothes?” Naya asks, ignoring his prying comments. The old man was a notorious gossip, anything she told him would be all over the town in under an hour.

“Your clothes are shot to shit, but your boots are right there,” he snorts, nodding to her shoes at the foot of her bed. “Guess you’re not staying,” the doctor grumbles, thin lips pursed as he watches her struggle to pull the footwear on. “You're really in no condition to be up and about.”

“I'll be alright once I get back to the shop,” Naya answers, delicately getting up from the bed and placing a hand on the wall for support. 

“Do whatever the hell you want. You always do,” Dr. Clayburn scowls. “My next order had better be [i]heavily[/i] discounted.”

The witch nods briskly, wrapping a sheet around herself to conceal her lack of outerwear before making her way back to the main entrance, careful to keep a hand on the wall the whole time. Naya is surprised to see the man that helped her subdue the mage back in the Deathwood sitting in one of the chairs by the door. “Hello,” she says a bit awkwardly, her weight shifting to her uninjured leg as she pauses. “Erm, thank you, for not leaving me for the vultures,” the brunette continues, giving the heavily armored man a small, lopsided smile. 

“I'm Naya,” she introduces herself, using her other hand to hold the sheet tighter around her shoulders. Gods, she must look pitiful. “Do you think you could help me again? I need to get to my shop, but I'm afraid I won't be able to make it on my own,” she explains, gaze flicking up to his helmet and where she supposed his eyes must be. “It's not very far, just a few streets over. I’ll be sure to repay you for your kindness.”

[@Polaris North]