Healers without pity
Havir slammed Aved's heavy load on the wooden kitchen table regardless of their complaints.
"It's good to see you, too." scowling, Havir ignored the healer's allusion to his lack of manners.
"Those witches scratched face!"
"Full sentences don't cost extra." annoyed, he regarded the mage.
"Do what I'm bleeding to death!" the latter demanded.
"Havir that's a scratch! I have patients who are dying!"
"I'm dying even if I retain scars!" he insisted.
"I hardly think anyone cares what your corpse looks like!" the elf countered cheekily from her seat.
"He's not going to die, but he'd do well not to seek me out again for such a thing, or it can be changed." Havir's curiosity was kept at bay as to what the old man meant by that, as long as he finally gave him something for his wounds now. All he wanted, after all, was a soft bed and a few gentle hours of sleep right after he got rid of this, this ungrateful elven beast weighing tons. Yawning, he tried to maintain a minimum of etiquette by at least pretending to be interested in what the old man was blubbering about. Otherwise he would never get his miracle paste to heal himself.
Instead of taking care of the really badly injured man, he shuffled over to the elf and mothered her just because of a few bruises and a dislocated arm. Pah, the simulated one!
"Here, take some of this ointment and go to sleep for a few hours," the old man purred with a smile. Havir almost burst. Didn't he see that he needed help more urgently? After all, it was his beauty that was at stake. His legendary beauty! That was his ointment, he needed sleep, not them!
"And you..." angrily he looked at the mage "will watch over the house and the little one while I make some more patient visits." Since when was he Havir the Mighty for the employee of this old clatterer. As if he had guessed his thoughts, the old rattle rack gave him a good smack on the head.
Phoenice, meanwhile, after applying the ointment, looked around to see where exactly she should sleep.
The healer noticed and pointed to a very comfortable looking white bed at the edge of the room.
"And me?" Havir demanded, indignant that the snake was now getting a bed. It should lie on the floor! He was Havir the Mighty!
"You can have the table," it promptly came back irritably.
The healer was really nice, she thought, so she smiled at him in thanks. The latter nodded kindly and left the room.
Oh, this elf would pay for this miserably. He would make her whimper for mercy. Once he had...At some point he must have fallen asleep over his revenge fantasies. A wild pounding on the door of the mud hut woke him up.
"You've got a spoon in your face." the old man strode leisurely to the door, humming to himself. The magician was about to turn him and his visitor into toads. With a "blong" the wooden spoon fell from his face and thoroughly spoiled his mood. He the great Havir, the beautiful one had to sleep at this miserable splintery table. While the old man had put her the bitchy elf in a warm soft bed. The old man slammed the door saying he would be back in a few hours. Havir was fed up with sleeping on the table. He wondered if he should throw the stupid elf out of bed or take the less soft looking straw bed of the healer. Not out of pity for her, he took the latter, but out of laziness.
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