The doctor watched as the venom took root. For a moment the laxness of Jalin's muscles made Fell sure she had succeeded in killing the woman but there it was on her lips, a tiny welling of blood, so slow as to be nothing more than an imaginary state. Still - would Jalin remain opaque if she were dead? Would not the caravaner in her have forced her to transparency?
When Rozu's handkerchief appeared before her, Fell took it and gently wiped broken glass and blood from the girl's mouth and cheek in a tender gesture. She took in a deep, settling breath and patted her hands on her thighs. "Now, the herbs," she stated and went to rummaging in her bag for some of the spirits she carried with her. She laid out the spirits, the herbs beside, and with a mutter dove back into the bag when a childish cry of dismay broke the morning silence.
With a glance, Marjorie took in the newcomer. A boy? She considered going back into her bag but was arrested by Rozu's deep bows. The boy scowled down on the Salamander and Rozu kept his silence, did not speak of the Caravan, did not explain about his reasonings. Curious, to be sure, Marjorie's hands stilled.
Hands at her sides, she rose when directed. Her gaze was far from cowed, but she did take a page out of Rozu's book, unsure as to if he acted the way he did out of kindness or fear. No doubt, this was the master who would have taken the Golter for his own. Those words did not bode well. Beside her, her patient had slid into the slumber of the poisoned, an arrested slumber where time would not drag so heavily on the woman. For the spider, such sleeping victims were well-larded food. For Marjorie, it meant just a little more time. But that time was precious.
She sniffed and then bowed to the boy. "I apologize for my trespass," she said gravely. "My companion is ill and I have been trying to heal her. I would not have left her on your doorstep like a common churl."
Were they too many, the words? Or not enough? She had noted that Rozu used words sparingly and Rozu was the boy's servant. Was he? For the moment, she could do nothing but try and impress on this one the dire situation which Jalin was in and the need for attention to the issue. If Marjorie had to navigate a political water with a child, she might have been hours playing pat-a-cake and Jalin would die.