[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

The ride back had been a quiet one, as it so often was, for Gerard— though upon their arrival the attending healers had broken into a bit of a sweat regarding his pallor. This redoubled, much to his and their mutually weary chagrin, when he responded with confusion regarding why he'd not at least allowed Martin to take a look over him— something to the tune of [color=goldenrod]"Was he there? I never saw him."[/color]

He... could only reason a guess as to why: mainly being a little too involved in his own head, and own duties confirming the knights' kills. He must have blundered past his compatriot at some point while gutting it out, and not drawn enough attention to himself in doing so. No fault of the healer's, seeing as the knight's mind was a thousand leagues away by that point.

[i]Very well~ I hope to see plenty more from you~[/i]

He'd gotten the urge to snap back at the lilting, cheshire tone, and in his tightly bundled haze of thoughts had begun to jumble out the half-formed concept of a steely-toned promise that he wasn't going anywhere... but no matter what happened through the rest of the night, the voice had been content to let the knight stew upon it in silence.

Not a word more in his head. Baffling... but, if nothing else, the "solitude" helped him focus on the important things like managing the canter and his stance upon it on the way back. A cold, stinging, and achey ride, but one he didn't slump out of his stirrups in— good enough. He had managed to escape serious, serious harm— no loss of limb nor break of any major bones. Once the medical and esoteric arts of healing had gotten their hands upon him, they'd seen to it that his wounds were closed, muscles treated with pungent balms, and his torso pockmarked by a manic scattering of bandages. That pull in his right elbow had manifested into a sling, even.

A loss of blood and the multitude of lacerations had also meant a day of harshly enforced bed rest, and so the knight was confined to his quarters for most of the direct aftermath of their excursion to the moon stone, only meeting any compatriots who had elected to drop by (mainly those that had been kind enough to chauffer meals from the mess to help him get his strength back) and spending the rest of his time bored through his skull.

Only today had he managed to get out into the fresh air of the halls proper, damning his idle hands as he walked and took in the morning sun as it warmed his drab black shirt. Truth be told, that was the worst part— he hardly minded the solitude and quiet, but the fact that he spent the entire time without doing [i]something[/i] had made it as agreeable as pulling a rotted tooth.

He'd always favored the Training Grounds for this much, but with a sword arm out of commission...

He grimaced openly, the patch of gauze over the numbly painful line down his cheek wrinkling some as the corner of his mouth pulled into it.

[color=goldenrod][i]That one's gonna scar. I know it.[/i][/color]

He desperately wished to hone his form.

He half-turned. Further down the path that branched off to his right lay Candaeln's library, somewhere he'd never really found himself visiting in anything more than passing, or as a favor to a tied-up compatriot looking to grab a novel and seeing a free hand. Maybe further on, the kitchens? Well, not much reason to visit there...

But even he had to admit that probably wasn't the best idea.

Not yet.