[h3]Jordan, outside the Fadewatcher station, Borstown[/h3]
Several of the children shook their heads no when Jordan asked about the bandits, and the oldest boy said: “It was in the night. We di'n't see anything. No one's telling us anything.”
A moment later when he mentioned bringing more supplies, the boy spoke up once more: “I think they already took what they could from Bren's house, and people come with more from time to time. It's been hours.”
Finally, when Jordan mentioned finding their healer, another child – a girl that looked about nine years old – spoke with a halting, nervous voice: “I w-... I want Bren back. Bren is... Bren's nice.”

[h3]Yanin and Madara, inside the Fadewatcher station, Borstown[/h3]
The young Fadewatcher seemed to relax a little when Yanin declared himself to not be an enemy, though he still looked nervous and exhausted. “Y-yes,” he replied when queried about whether there were anyone else in the building, “he's –”
At that time a second young man, looking only a little older than the first, also in Fadewatcher gear and decorated with his very own faintly blood-speckled bandage on his left upper arm, came trudging up the stairs from the basement with a bundle of cloth, likely bed-sheets, under one arm and carrying a basket with several brown jugs in the other. He looked a little calmer than his younger colleague, but also a little paler and just as sweaty.

The newcomer seemed surprised to see Yanin, and even more so to see Madara abruptly push through and announcing her intent to help. Despite how evidently unnerved he was, however, he quickly set down the things he was carrying – what was intended as improvised bandage-materials and four jugs of ale – and wordlessly went about following Madara's instructions, tending the fire and preparing a pot of water for boiling.
The younger man stood clumsily from his kneeling position, his body trembling, grabbed the lantern he had had sitting beside him and bringing it to provide what light it could for the half-palanter.

As she examined them, it quickly turned out that the two quiet ones were still for a reason: neither of them was breathing and there was no heartbeat. Even at a glance, Madara's practiced eye would likely recognize that, among several less severe wounds, one had bled out from a cut across the inner thigh and likely had a severed femoral artery, and the other seemed to have expired from a stab-wound in the abdomen.