( in the absence of a true healer, petrana has done a serviceable job - staunched the flow of blood with an improvised tourniquet of the man's own torn shirt tied tight around his thigh, partially cauterised the wound with...well, it isn't clear what with, but "magic was involved" seems like a safe guess, under the circumstances.
the woman in question is nothing remarkable to look at, standing five feet and bedraggled in her sodden traveling dress, a mess of water and dust and blood. steady enough that it seems unlikely any of it is hers - or hard to tell, at least. perhaps she's too focused to have even noticed. the introduction momentarily seems to take her aback -
how long has it been since she had to tell someone who she was? what a peculiar thing to think. )
no subject
the woman in question is nothing remarkable to look at, standing five feet and bedraggled in her sodden traveling dress, a mess of water and dust and blood. steady enough that it seems unlikely any of it is hers - or hard to tell, at least. perhaps she's too focused to have even noticed. the introduction momentarily seems to take her aback -
how long has it been since she had to tell someone who she was? what a peculiar thing to think. )
Petrana. My name is- Petrana.
( just that, for now, she decides. )
Where are we, please?