Chapter 2: (Part 2) The Calling

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They met their companions once more. Upon opening the door, Haylan quickly yet softly took the flower, holding it gently as he cut it into parts to boil into tea. After a minute or so of stirring, he brought the tea cup to her, waiting for it to cool as he rested it on a wooden plate.

"Only a swallow should do it," Haylan said in a rather gentle voice.

She took a gulp from a tea-filled wooden spoon gently poured by Haylan.

She remained still. Her body was as pale as the moment they brought her there.

"It's not working!" Theodren raised his voice in a violent panic, causing Haylan to run about and try and prevent him from causing any damage.

In his relentless rage he took the pot. He grabbed by her lower lip and opened her mouth, sending the hot liquid straight down her throat.

She opened her eyes quickly, head bent upwards, seeing his face look at her in reassurance despite hardly knowing her. Carrion was just in shock that it worked, for hours had already gone by with her seemingly dead. Zoran walked up to her as well, despite being mostly divided from social interactions.

Haylan touched her shoulder gently, pressing down beside her wound. She made no reaction, as though the pain had exited her. Haylan unwrapped the cloth. It was gone...without a trace of it ever being there....

Despite never really including himself in group efforts; Zoran, to see his brother happy, was more liberating than anything he could achieve.

Carrion took her in his arms, nearly crying at the thought she made it to the last step in the brightened void. Haylan went back with the tea to hopefully make use of it, turning back to see all of them hug her at once. He smiled, walking back to his storage and announcing their free passage out of his home.

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With Valora healed, what was left unattainable was open for intervention. Only time could tell where their road would lead them.

"We must get the peace factions attention!" Theodren proclaimed, all of them sitting by a table in a tavern room.

"And how do you expect us to do that? We've one king already turning his back on our loyalty. Expect another to open their arms and believe the dishonored?" Zoran sat beside the wall at the corner of the room, writing his novel.

Carrion continued to think, his cold hands over his slightly wrinkled forehead and tired eyes. His long, grey and brown hair cloaked his sweat coated forehead. The rant from the abrupt meeting overwhelmed him.

Valora was holding her hand to her lower lip in thought. Her seemingly frail left arm was stuck to her pocket.

With a crude, incoherent retort, Theodren thrust his fist to the table. By the weight of his attack, one would think the table would shatter by how much force he placed on it.

"You're right, no one will believe us! We'd be a bunch of drunken fools prancing around in the open field, oblivious to the world around us." He began flailing his arms in a panic.

Carrion tried to calm the beast of a man, placing his hand over his back and began to speak.

With raw strength, Theodren threw Carrion away with a shove of his hands.

"What can we do now, but face the inevitable?" Theodren placed his hands against his head.

"Well, it'd certainly be something new to you." Carrion rubbed his arm with mild distaste.

Valora tried to approach, Zoran still in the back, silently listening and collecting his thoughts.

Still silent, as she had only just recovered, she began to speak.

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