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Taran had seen Usoa’s brand of healing a handful of times before, although he had yet to experience it himself.  Only those truly desperate or dying would choose [i]her[/i] method over simply waiting for  nature to heal them. 

The pain was like nothing he could have imagined. Muscle pulled away from the bone with a tearing sound not dissimilar to parchment ripping.   It was all he could do to stop from screaming was to close his eyes and try to image that he couldn’t feel his arm twisting and expanding.  The pain increasing beyond the point that his nerves could comprehend. Then it faded slowly, the pain slowly leeching out of his body.  

His legs shook with the effort of supporting his  own weight, bile built up at the back of his throat and the urge to vomit filled most of his sense. 

“[b]Better[/b]?” came Usoa’s voice, echoing slightly and sounding very distant. 

“[color=708090]Y-yeah,[/color]” gasp Taran finally, the air struggling to find its way into his lungs. The spot in his vision starting to fade as the sharp pain of his arm faded to a strange warmth. Neither pleasant nor unpleasant. 

The sound of hoove filled the courtyard as Ryleth took off into the woods on his nightmare of a steed. A haunting final look was all that Taran was left with. He had very little to do with the elder warlock, who had made it very clear that his existence bothered him.  Yet he couldn’t think of anything done recently to earn the glare he got. It made his skin crawl in ways worse that what any amount of tentacles could bring. 

Shifting his weight he left his arms rubbed against Usoa’s [i]very[/i]  bare body.  The faintly greenish tone of his face faded into a deep red. His body tense, pulling away from the hold of the witch. “[color=708090]Let go,[/color]” he said, fighting to keep the rude urgency out of his voice. “[color=708090] Please[/color]”.