[h2]Jordan Forthey[/h2]
	
	If it had, indeed, been hours, then it would explain why the streets seemed comparatively calm. Winter was coming and the crops didn't harvest themselves. Whether the kids were here because they wanted to be here or because their parents definitely didn't want them that far out of the village on that particular day was anyone's guess. He didn't think he wanted to [i]explicitly[/i] ask if someone they knew was known to be injured or killed... It might come up, anyway, but still. 
	"Was anyone or anything else taken, besides the healer?" Or injured, or killed, atop of whatever poor Fadewatchers were there fast enough to try to intervene. "Or do you know of anyone who might know more of what happened? Besides our colleagues in there, I mean."
	What manner of bandits [i]would[/i] break in just to get the healer and no one else? Not riches or ... unless the particular healer was also the kind of herbalist that could make potent toxins and other substances of questionable legality, or someone had a personal qualm of some kind against her. If it was a matter of one of the bandits own needing a healer, surely they would have tried to make them come with more peacefully ... unless they'd tried to, and failed spectacularly? 
	A girl piped up, mentioning that "Bren" - presumably the healer - was nice. 
	"Ah? What are they like?" Might learn something, might not... But in any case, it would be awkward to stand in silence and stare at a number of upset yet anticipant kids until Sir Yanin decided he would be better used elsewhere or dismissed to do whatever. 

[h2]Madara (and Sir Yanin Glade)[/h2]
	
	Evidently satisfied that there didn't seem to be any threats or items amiss on the ground floor of the guardhouse - if the dead and wounded could be counted as "not amiss", and in the absence of a second floor above (they'd have seen if there was anything notable on the roof), he seemed to intent on giving the lower floor the exact same kind of see-over, and headed downstairs to check everything there, too. Maybe he wasn't the most talkative sort, or just one who preferred to see everything for himself rather than take someone else's word. 
	(Bloody dragging marks? Had they taken the definite dead there? Caught someone?)

	The quiet turned out to be the worst kind of quiet - not calm, not asleep, not even in shock or unconsciousness, but they apparently had ceased to be among them. Likely a while before she set foot inside. If they had breathed their last breath within  her sight, [i]maybe[/i] she could have attempted something, but it looked far beyond her - or any mundane's alone - ability already. 
	If she wanted, she could mostly tell how long it had been since someone died, from blood following gravity, from cooling of skin, from stiffness settling in, from natural breakdown laxing it, and finally putrefaction rotting the body. (Incidentally, an experienced butcher would, too. Perhaps not the stages of subsequent detrimental decay, but the initial states would be quite distinctly familiar.)
	Gut wounds tended to be a bit of a wash even if she were there in time. At the end of the day, [i]some parts of anatomy[/i] simply were significantly messier than others, and did no good inverted into the rest of the body. So all that could be done was to clean up things the best you could, bring out any anti-infection and anti-inflammatory stuff you had, and hope upon natural healing and pray to whatever gods bothered listening. 
	In a cruel twist to it all, unless one of the bigger blood-vessels in the area were also nicked, gut injuries also often took a long time to kill - hours, days even. Plenty of time to lie curled up in pain and contemplate your mortality while someone else scurried about to see if they could procure a very potent magical healer in time. 
	Femoral artery injuries were the exact opposite in many ways - you had to act [i]fast[/i], in many cases faster than it took to run a few hundred meters to fetch someone and back, but they were comparatively easy fix. You could hold off the bleeding enough with heavy pressure - enough pressure to leave deep bruises and hurt like burning iron pressed into one's flesh - but not with bandages. Simple bandages did almost nothing to stop that much blood.  

	If someone had known to ask, there might have yet been hope for this one. 

	"May Reina have mercy on you," she muttered under her breath, with her hand lightly on the dead man's shoulder. [i]Or the Wanderer take good care of you,[/i] as the case might be; a human would have had to be steadfastly determined to not let go for more than a dozen minutes after the heart had stopped. Maybe a bit longer if freezing or drowning. 
	She wasn't the most devout follower, but many people had unwavering faith in their chosen deities' aid, and even so, it never hurt to ask, at least for things what were beyond what she could do. Maybe some days they were merciful, as they were supposed to be. Maybe they granted some of that mercy upon those she could help no more. And just maybe, they would give a second chance to someone who would otherwise have none. 
	There was a slight pause, perhaps of contemplation, or maybe to see if [i]this [/i]day would be one of those miracles happened, Reina willing, but if nothing occurred, Madara moved on to whoever of the four downed seemed the next worst off. She was not finished here either way. 
	There was no need to say why she was moving on to those awake enough to pay attention to what she was doing, if they weren't aware of their fates already. Those who [i]weren't[/i] well enough probably could do better without knowing just yet.