[IRP] Idyll of the Idle

[Victor]

Roland complied, and sat on the stone where Ingrid had previously been sitting. He inspected his hand and tried not to poke at the wound. It didn't look particularly bad, but it stung. He still wasn't keen on leaving his prized hand in her so-called capable hands. What would happen if she messed up and grew him another finger? Or worse, left a scar? A delicate flower such as her probably wasn't as seasoned a healer as she claimed to be. Definitely not like the battle-honed, grizzled old war priests that accompanied the Pheraean knights. Still, it was better than sitting around bleeding.

He was almost embarrased to have won the fight in some way, now that he thought about it. Roland called out to her while she was recovering supplies from her saddlebag. "You know, my lady, I'm deeply sorry your eyes had to watch such a brawl. To win so dishonorably in front of you was truly unbecoming of someone of your stature. There was no purity in that."