The color in his pale skin returned, and so did the warmth in his hands that Bedona held. The translucent dome of light that engulfed the three them revitalized her. A feeling like she had just rested for days and was ready with a week's worth of energy to work. Judging by its robust aura, anyone inside the sphere would feel the same, and its size could easily fit about twenty people.
The spell that Moswen had cast was unlike anything she had seen before, and she had seen one of the top healers perform the most difficult healings, but nothing like this. Like she had perceived earlier, Moswen's magic was different.
"He should wake up soon. You can stop."
Bedona placed Tristan's hands on his sides at Moswen's instructions. Moswen was again kneeling near Tristan's chest, his eyes staring intently into Tristan's face. She looked at Moswen and then at Tristan, if she were to wake up from an interlude like this, Moswen's image won't be the first thing she would want to see.
Bedona cleared the abstraction in her head, now trying to get his attention. The man had a habit of constantly getting lost in his own thoughts. He looked at her in a mild state of shock, again, like just realizing she was there.
"Maybe, we should dress him first." She said and pointed at Tristan's attire laying crumpled near the fire. "His clothes have perhaps dried."
Moswen looked down and his tiny eyes widened ever so gently like the visual had just registered. Really, 'how forgetful was he?' Not for the first time Bedona wondered.
"Yes! Yes… You're right!"
Motioning him to remain in his position, Bedona gathered the simple grey tunic and trousers of the same shade and handed them to Moswen. He dressed Tristan like a baby but with the weight and the fragility of a paper doll. She watched the strangeness for a while and offered to help soon after, earning another heartfelt gratitude from Moswen. Unknowingly, Bedona was starting to feel like she deserved none of it.
No sooner had he been dressed, than Tristan woke up from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open and looked around him, no impression of someone who was just about to die. There was an odd life and an alien curiosity in his eyes. They passed over Bedona like she didn't even exist and then fell on Moswen. She waited but the look of horror or shock she was expecting to see on Tristan wasn't there, instead his eyes sparkled and his face split into a wide grin.
"Mosywein!"
Tristan spoke with so much energy that it felt like a scream only happier; the voice so shrill and sharp and full of energy that did not belong to the boy or anyone who recently was near death's door. Bedona stared at Moswen and saw the expression she was expecting on Tristan's face on his. His face had gone white as sheet, eyes so wide that it felt like they would fall out of their sockets. She again looked at Tristan just to see if they both were looking at the same thing and found the boy eyeing the man with the most unsettling grin.
"What… did you say?"
Moswen's voice came out as a hiss, barely audible under his clenched teeth. There was twitch in his hand as if it wanted to reach the boys throat.
Tristan's grin only widened at that, his eyes lidded but were still on the fuming Moswen, like he was no more than a bug to be crushed; a disgusting sneer that refuted the boy's personality. At that moment Bedona wished to run away from there, a fear so base that she didn't understand was inundating her.
"Come now! Do you not recognize your friend?"
Tristan's tone was smooth, with an accent so very foreign and obsolete and melodious. Bedona's expecting gaze never left Moswen who was still stiff as a board but was keeping a hard eye on Tristan's grinning visage. She heard the bones in his hand crack under his clenched fist, his jaw palpitated and she even heard his teeth rattle with it.
Just like that in a blink of an eye, his right hand settled on Tristan's throat, making the boy try to cough but with no change in his demeaning expression. The whole of Tristan's frail shoulders were covered underneath Moswen's massive hand; if he wanted, he could crush them whole. Bedona jumped to stop him but the look of pure rage in Moswen's face petrified her.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Tristan wheezed under pressure, but looked no less amused. "You'll damage the throat, you know."
Moswen looked down and took a deep, difficult breath and removed his hand from the boy. Then without warning he punched the sand near Tristan's head once, twice then thrice, each sending explosions of sand around. Bedona and Tristan peered away just enough to save their eyes from the piercing sand grains.
"Yes… do that! Sand can take it." Tristan mocked and turned his head to study the hole near his head.
"How… did you find me?" Moswen gave out a throaty growl ignoring him, a wild and beastly voice that for the first time matched his outlook. And Tristan closed his eyes and only smiled, wide and toothy like waiting for them to get the hilarious joke he had just made. Moswen's eyes enlarged in realization and then grimaced, and he sighed. He placed his palm on Tristan's neck and held it softly. When he removed it Tristan was sound asleep, a calm expression that also comforted Bedona.
"What-" she looked between the two and took a tottering breath and asked, "-just happened?"
Bedona didn't know Tristan well, only that he was the hunter's son. And that he liked to lurk around the temple with that crazy old priest, Nowsem. Before she had perceived the boy to be slow, but hadn't given anymore thought to that. The day he had come to the woods to her with that medallion was the only interaction they had ever had. But today, his actions had shocked her senses. For somebody who took pride in studying personalities by a glance, a guy like him skipping her prying eyes for months was nothing short of a blow to her head.
Moswen hadn't answered her, he hadn't even moved.
"Sir Moswen?"
Bedona called again, as softly as she could while still being audible. He looked up at her, and then at the boy, with the very expression of a helpless parent of a sick child. She wondered then if he was distantly related to Tristan, there was no resemblance between the two at all.
"He… is… very hurt. He… didn't know what he was saying."
A lie so obvious it hurt to even listen to it. Bedona cringed.
She didn't press any further; the heaviness around him was getting too much for her to bear. She needed some air to breath, away from all this crazy. Ava's insistent on feast had left no food to bring with her. She understood the sentiment sure, but did they have to use everything? She played the situation in her head but couldn't find a single excuse she could use to say no to her superior's request. Then again, by now she was to be in Migiran, with a full belly and on a soft bed in a good inn with a decent partner.
"He is weak… he'd need to eat when he wakes up." She tried sounding concerned, but she knew it was more about hers than the boy's hunger. Bedona stood up with her hands on her waist and faced east where the town was. "Why don't we take him to the Migiran… it's not far."
"No!" Moswen said, alarmed, earning a sharp look from Bedona. "No, it is not safe to move him yet."
Bedona narrowed her eyes. It was suspicious but she too agreed that Tristan shouldn't be moved yet. She wasn't over what had happened and doubted ever would. But the man had looked so helpless that she couldn't help but feel pity for him. Her experience so far hadn't prepared her for this, it was way beyond what she could imbibe, but at least Moswen seemed to know what was happening though he wouldn't admit anything to it yet.
Moswen got up from his sitting too, in what was strange amalgamation of clumsy and graceful movements. Again, Bedona noticed how big he was, and now that they were not fighting she could really see it.
"Look after him please? I will go… get something to eat."
She wanted to refuse, not wanting even a moment alone with the frightening boy. But he saw her hesitation and quickly added. "He won't wake until later, don't worry."
Bedona didn't think Moswen would be the one to lie, based on what she saw of him. She had a pretty decent read on the man. She decided to stay in spite of the protest of her mind.