You owe me one (Tirael, open)

[Maxodis]

It wasn't long before little heads started to pop out over the top of the wall, tiny eyes glinting in the moonlight as they stared down at him. The large weasel shifted his weight as he waited silently, glaring back up at them. No doubt then. Woodlanders. Absolutely bloody wonderful.

Redin wiped a paw over his face in a vain attempt to erase the harsher edges of the scowl that had permanently etched itself into his face as he silently wondered what exactly he would say, and more importantly, how he would say it. The murderous bandit was most comfortable threatening to kill creatures, usually followed by carrying out said threats. He'd lived in these woods for years, and while he made a point of never leaving any survivors, it was foolish to think that these creatures would be clueless as to who he was. He snorted softly at the irony: He had been worried about how many of them would love to kill Sleet? There was little doubt in his mind that many more would prefer to have him dead. He'd killed countless more times than his assassin partner had. Often without reason.

The sharp glint of metal was starting to appear over the edge of the wall in addition to the small heads, which were starting to disappear less. He couldn't say he expected any less of these creatures, simple though they were. He could hear worried voices carrying in the tranquil evening from the other side of the heavy gate. Doubtlessly they weren't sure of who he was or what he wanted. This was not looking like a situation that could be easily manipulated with his usual diplomacy. He would have to be....

"...Nice."

The word itself sent a dense shiver coursing up his spine, his face screwing up in disgust. If words had taste, then that one in particular was like acid to the weasel. He didn't do nice. But he'd been taught the barest of basics by Sleet during the long course of their companionship. To be more accurate, she had literally beat it into him. He had the scars to prove it. What was important was that he was physically capable of being.... friendly. If thats what it would take to get in there, to her....

"Redin!"

He let out a sigh of frustration, rubbing a paw over the tattoo emblazoned on his shoulder. It was worth a shot, at least. He cleared his throat in the quiet evening, his deep voice carrying clearly as he spoke, struggling to maintain a calm tone. "Ah'm Redin Outmir. Some o' you might 'ave 'eard me name 'fore." He raised his arm high, the dark bandage somewhat apparent against his crimson fur. "Ah'm injured, but I ain't seekin' yer 'elp. My..." He hesitated, working the foreign word around his mouth before it finally slid free "....friend.... is in there, the one tha' jes' yelled. You'll let me in." His words were less of a question and more of a calm demand. He fell silent for several seconds before he closed his eyes, silently cursing her name again.

"......Please."

[Tirael]

"Redin is out there," she managed, "he's looking for me an'... well he d**n well ought t'find me."

The name sent a shiver down Tirael's spine; he remembered the psychotic weasel all too well.

"Oi! Where do you think yer- OI! I'm talkin' to yew, ya putrid scum! Ya sorry excuse fer a- Wot the 'ell do you think yew are anyway? Prancin' about like yer a goodbeast! May'aps yew 'adn't 'eard mate, but yer a fox! Yer every bit the vermin that you proclaim us to be! Every. Bloody. Bit!"

While Tirael had already learned to trust Sleet, her companion seemed much less stable. He obviously had some very black-and-white ideas about the moralities of different species, and given the way he said "goodbeast," he probably didn't consider himself one. In any case, the otter knew that unleashing other Abbeydwellers--many of whom had the same strong opinions as the weasel--on Redin would be the perfect recipe for disaster.

"Fine, the gate's--" But Sleet had already taken off down the hallway. "Wait! Quit running, I'll help you down the--QUIT RUNNING, DAMMIT!" Her absolute disregard for her own health was starting to drive him crazy; if she didn't manage to kill herself, he was about ready to aid her in that respect.

"Redin!"

Catching up to Sleet at the end of the hallway, the otter glanced through the window at the growing hubbub by the gate. This was exactly what he didn't want: a typical response to a menacing-looking 'vermin' standing outside. "Wait here," he said shortly to his patient before rushing down the stairs. He ignored the odd glances he received, even as he tripped and fell down the last two steps into Great Hall. Almost instantly, he pushed himself up and sprinted out onto the grounds.
______________________________

"Ah'm Redin Outmir. Some o' you might 'ave 'eard me name 'fore. "Ah'm injured, but I ain't seekin' yer 'elp. My...friend.... is in there, the one tha' jes' yelled. You'll let me in."

The squirrel sentry snorted. "I'll do nothing of the sort! We didn't win this Abbey back just to lose it because of some idiotic, low-down trick by ver--" Able's monologue was cut off by the smallish otter that jostled him aside. "Redin! I can take you to Sleet, she's--" But it was Tirael's turn to be cut off. "He's not comin' in here! Are you too stupid to see this is a trap!?" Tirael just rolled his eyes and made for the stairs. Able, however, grabbed the back of his tunic. "Did you not hear me? The vermin stays out. Of course," and the squirrel almost sneered, "You would be used to doing what they say, wouldn't you?"

Though he was stung by the insult, Tirael simply smacked Able's paw away and hurried down the stairs. "Someone help me lift this," he said as he pulled on the bar of the gate.

[[If you want, you can just say the gate's opened.]]

[Maxodis]

"I'll do nothing of the sort! We didn't win this Abbey back just to lose it because of some idiotic, low-down trick by ver--" "Redin! I can take you to Sleet, she's--"

His grip on the polearm tightening, the weasel was quickly losing his patience. It was fortunate that it was dark, otherwise the slight spasms of the muscles in his face would be clearly evident as he struggled mightily to keep from erupting into a characteristic fit of rage. Oh how Sleet would love to see him now, in this condition. She would most likely pass out from laughing too hard. The thought only served to agitate him further, his ears flicking back as a thick vein pulsed in his neck.

Rather than open his mouth and effectively reverse the situation for himself, Redin instead focused on controlling his anger. With no small amount of effort, he forced his breathing to become deep and even. His eyes closing, he let the tension in his shoulders slip somewhat, his fur settling back down on his back in slow increments. The concept was not unlike that of controlling pain. Ironically enough, it was not so much mind over matter as the other way around.

His eyes snapped open as the sounds of the gate's bar lifting reached him. Without hesitation, he strode quickly forward, resisting the urge to give the gate a hefty kick and instead putting his shoulder to it as his footpaws dug securely into the packed earth. His muscles straining, the large weasel grunted softly with effort as he shoved the weighted gate open enough to slip his bulk inside.

Immediately facing a sorry assortment of weapons, the weasel hesitated for a brief moment before he remembered his manners. Nonchalantly, he tossed the broken polearm to the side, the scythehead clanging dully as it struck the ground. With the same casual grace, he grabbed the end of the heavy chain around his neck, unwinding it quickly and dropping it at his side, the metal rasping sharply as it collapsed into a pile. He held his arms out wide, his ragged vest open wide to show that he held no concealed weapons. "I ain't armed. Don't mean any o' yew any 'arm. Now.... where's Sleet?"

[lorki]

Ignoring yet another one of Tiraels requests, Sleet trailed him down the stairs, although her steps where much more wobbly and uneven then his... but at least she managed not to slip down the last few steps. And, having to put in a considerable amount of concentration and time to not flop down the stairs, she reached the bottom just as Tirael descended from the gate house and began pulling open the gate.

Unsure of what to do about the growing late night crowd of Abbey beasts around them, Sleet shuffled along the wall away from a trio of squirrels, thinking it best to avoid any communication. She turned back towards the gate and Redin shoved his way through. She felt oddly guilty that he had come there for her. She hadn't even thought of him when she'd hurried her way to the Abbey. He was regularly her first choice in terms of help or aid, but he had the habit of coming and going and she'd needed something a bit more immediate. At least he didn't have to find her dead stiff in the woods.

"Now.... where's Sleet?"

"'Ere." She said, her voice still a bit raspy. She kept one paw up against the wall as she raised the other to gain his attention. Knowing that the situation was alright... or at least, not terrible and or bloody, had calmed her adrenaline. However, with the calm came a very intense fatigue. Tirael might have been more correct then she cared to give him credit for. Her limbs burned uncomfortably and with ever heartbeat her head throbbed. She wondered how awful she might look, but then again, Redin was a bit of a doofus when it came to incapacitations that didn't involve a terribly bloody wound or broken neck. He probably thought she looked fine. She grit her fangs together and forced a smile towards him, "Where have you been?"

[Maxodis]

"'Ere."

Redin's hazel eyes snapped to the small dark figure beside the wall. His immediate relief at seeing her standing was forestalled by the slightly ragged edge to her voice. He didn't fail to notice the odd-colored poultice on her shoulder, nor the long streaks of dried blood running down her arm. His concern rose as he dropped his arms, forgetting the existence of the abbeydwellers completely as he strode purposefully towards Sleet. If there was anything to be said about the battle-scarred weasel, it was that not only did emotions not always come to him effortlessly, but when they did his face failed to display them properly. As a result, his rising concern and impulsive need to find out what was wrong with the smaller ferret could easily be mistaken for murderous intent, the way the air seemed to tense about him as his brow drew down into a disgusted scowl.

"Where have you been?"

He ignored the question, instead lightly placing his paw over her injured shoulder and turning it slightly to see it better. Not much could be determined through the thick compound, but it did not appear to be that large of a wound. His eyes slowly slid from her shoulder to hers, holding her gaze with an accusing and somewhat suspicious glare for several long moments. Wordlessly, he let go of her shoulder, picking up her paw and pressing a finger to her wrist, then placing the back of that paw to her forehead. His 'concern' growing blacker, he leaned down, his face level and only a hair's width away from hers.

"Where.... 'ave I been? Where 'ave you been!? More 'mportantly, jes wot 'appened to you?" His eyes narrowed as he glowered at her, Sleet was disturbingly far from being well. If one couldn't immediately discern that from the fatigue that emanated so strongly from her that it was almost palpable, then it was apparent in that she had yet to kick him, punch him, attempt to subdue him, or even cast a stinging remark in his direction. He turned away in disgust for a moment before turning back to her, the heat in his demeanor taken down several degrees. He slipped an arm under her good shoulder and around her back as he bent down. " 'Old still yew idiot. I'm goin' t'carry yew back t'wotever bed yew fled from." He said this without even the slightest bit of knowledge as to where that could be. What mattered to the weasel was that she be off her footpaws, as the way she stood shakily, he wouldn't be terribly surprised if she were to topple over and injure herself further.

[lorki]

Sleet knew immediately that she'd willfully underestimated her friend. Surely she'd wanted him to assume her fine, it would keep her from having to worry him further, however that was clearly not how it was turning out. She knew this because Redin looked exceedingly angry as he began to trek towards her. For some reason or another -quite possibly the slight fever she still help- she almost laughed at the memory that his face brought to mind. Redin rarely looked genuinely angry with her, and even now she knew that he was not necessarily upset with her, but rather was expressing himself in a frightening manner. But what she was reminded of was the day she'd been bashed in the head with a hefty metal pole by a stoat in Redin's old horde. By the time she'd regained consciousness her paws were tied and Redin was preparing to lob her head off with that scythe of his. However, as he'd gone about describing her demise she took the chance to launch herself forward and kick both her legs forcefully into his groin.

Yes... this expression quite resembled the murderous one he'd held that day. Luckily, though, his intent was now much different than it had been a few years ago.

Still, Sleet was feeling increasingly guilty while he approached. Redin had not managed to intimidate her in quite a number of years, but he retained the ability to make her feel oddly childlike and helpless in situations such as this. She kept her mouth shut as he examined her, her head tilted back so she could watch his reaction, though she knew she wouldn't gain much from it. He continued to simply look enraged. Finally he lowered his pierced face to be eye level with her. She kept her gaze even, though she was sure her guilt was starting to creep into her face as her ears flattened back against her skull.

"Where.... 'ave I been? Where 'ave you been!? More 'mportantly, jes wot 'appened to you?"

She inhaled deeply, a scowl finally coming across her eyes, "I'm fine," she stated defensively, though it didn't bother her too much to admit weakness to Redin she didn't much like admitting it in an entryway full of enemies. "I got inta... a bit of a toxic conflict is all." It wasn't as if worse had not happened to her, or him for that matter. For such a hard time he was giving her, one would think he might stop to consider how many times she'd had to drag his half dead self away from a fight. But the snarky remarks were not spoken, despite thinking them up Sleet couldn't deny feeling a bit bad about the situation.

" 'Old still yew idiot. I'm goin' t'carry yew back t'wotever bed yew fled from."

Sleet scowled harder at this assertion from her friend. One of the reasons her and Redin's tussled most often involved her biting or lightly knifing him was their quite obvious size difference. At this point her displeasure came less from his words and actions and more from the fact that she would have to go along with it. "I can walk, I ran down here." She murmured, but didn't even care to put in the effort to try and make her words sound meaningful. She was far far to the losing side of this argument, and she knew it.

[Tirael]

"I ain't armed. Don't mean any o' yew any 'arm. Now.... where's Sleet?"

Tirael was about to answer the question when Sleet beat him to it. Though he could have exploded at her for repeatedly disregarding her own life (even after he'd gone to the trouble of saving it), she was at least dealing with Redin herself, a task he admittedly had not relished. Of course, with the two engaged in conversation, there was nothing for him to do but to placate those guards whose weapons remained at the ready. A few listened, but most, well aware of his near-pacifism, ignored his pleas and remained alert. At least there were the few.

" 'Old still yew idiot. I'm goin' t'carry yew back t'wotever bed yew fled from."

"I can walk, I ran down here."

"Which I told you not to do," Tirael interjected. It was enough that everybody ignored him in other matters, but having his medical advice so universally pushed aside was incredibly irritating. Only those who literally couldn't walk obeyed him; everybody else was either too heroic or too stupid, or both. "Look, at least quit moving around until morning. If you don't think you're capable of doing that on your own, I can mix you something." Something strong, he thought to himself. Glancing at Redin, he said, "You're her friend, convince her." He knew the weasel was a stubborn creature, but maybe he'd at least be stubborn for the right reason tonight.

[Maxodis]

"I'm fine, I got inta... a bit of a toxic conflict is all... I can walk, I ran down here."

"Ah, shaddap an' save yer breath." Hooking his other arm behind Sleet's knees, the stalwart weasel easily lifted her slender form. He frowned at her words, shifting his grip on her shoulders somewhat to accommodate for her injury. Toxic conflict was an odd phrasing. The only meaning Redin could draw from it was that the experienced assassin had been somehow poisoned. He banished the thought immediately, the creature he held in his arms was easily capable of consuming quantities of poisons that could kill another of her size. It wasn't possible for her to have been poisoned. By the same token, her extensive training in building her resistances to such toxins had made her rather absurdly impervious to illness. And yet here he was, cradling this small creature who was one of the few that had ever been consistently successful in restraining him, even in the wildest of his rages. Her fire-scarred legs were shaking with the effort of her flight to the gate, and she didn't even seem aware.

It silently distressed the weasel to see her in such frail shape. It only added another stress onto the growing pile of frustrations and major setbacks that had plagued him for the past months. As much as he would wish it otherwise, Redin knew that they would have to remain within the sandstone building... and tolerate all of its inhabitants... until Sleet was well. They no longer had anywhere safe that they could hide, and he couldn't keep her safe out in Mossflower, not anymore. Not until he determined just what was wrong with himself.

"Look, at least quit moving around until morning. If you don't think you're capable of doing that on your own, I can mix you something."

Redin glanced at the otter, having realized that he had paused and was lost in his thoughts. The weasel wasn't paying attention to what the little creature had to say, but it wasn't the otter's words that had caught Redin's attention. His brow drew down further as he watched the small creature fuss at Sleet. Something was familiar about his voice. The weasel couldn't place his paw on it, but the otter inspired visions of blood and snow.... coupled with intense frustration. Redin shook his head as the creature glanced up at him.

"You're her friend, convince her."

At this, the weasel's face cracked into a lopsided grin. "Convince 'er? She keeps up like this fer much longer an' she won't be conscious t'complain 'bout it." He assumed that the otter was a healer of some sort, or at least the creature who was attending to her before his arrival. As much commotion as he had caused, his appearance was still notably more subtle than what he was accustomed to. Ignoring the various sharpened weapons leveled at his chest by the more wary of the abbeybeasts, he started strolling casually toward what appeared to be the main building. "Show me th' way, willya? Can't 'xactly say I know where th' 'ell I'm goin'."

[Tirael]

"Convince 'er? She keeps up like this fer much longer an' she won't be conscious t'complain 'bout it."

Somehow, Tirael couldn't imagine Sleet actually collapsing from exhaustion. She just seemed too stubborn, and though he had been cautioning her in order to prevent that sort of problem, it somehow didn't seem like much of a threat. Then again, Redin knew the ferret much better than he did, so his judgment was probably the better.

"Show me th' way, willya? Can't 'xactly say I know where th' 'ell I'm goin'."

"Oh--er, right," the otter said, gently pushing a spear out of the way to clear a path. Redin had obviously seen the main building already, as he was heading that way, but Tirael still walked in front. He would have to lead the way up to the infirmary itself, and they were already entering the building as it was. The few creatures around seemed to shy away toward the walls as the trio passed; At least we don't have to deal with any of them stopping us, he thought with some relief. "This way," he said, beckoning Redin toward the stairs. "The infirmary is just up the stairs."

As they climbed, he realized that, once again, he was bringing home strange creatures, and that, once again, the Skipper likely had little knowledge of what was happening. He would have assumed somebeast would have gone to tell him, but Tirael hadn't noticed his father anywhere around. It looked like he would have to tell him himself. (Once again.)

[Maxodis]

"Oh--er, right,"

Redin hardly heard the otter behind him as the creature scrambled to catch up, his attention tuned to his senses. The dark blotch of the building ahead of him had a rather ominous feel to it, like a beast waiting for its prey in the otherwise tranquil night. The air seemed cleaner, clearer, the faint staleness spiked with a sharp twinge of sweat having vanished since the building was known as Fort N'Tashi. The soft noises of the night reached him as his footpads strolled smoothly over the cool earth. To another, lesser, creature, the conflicting comfort of the atmosphere of the late evening and the knowledge that one was deep within potentially hostile territory would place an extreme stress on one's mind, breaking down their reason and leaving them highly volitile.

To Redin though, both of the conflicting concepts combined left him feeling far more relaxed than he had dared to allow himself in months. He hardly took note when Sleet's shaking paw dropped from the side of his neck, where it had been slowly been making progress up to his face, where she would undoubtedly yank on the chains connected to his piercings. A casual glance at her limp form confirmed that she had indeed collapsed from fatigue, her head cradled in the nook of his arm. At least she had stopped shaking.

"This way, the infirmary is just up the stairs."

Redin glanced at the stairs, the word 'infirmary' grabbing a solid hold of his attention and refusing to let go. His footpaw hovered over the first step as he considered this new information. He hadn't survived for as long as he had by failing to consider all of the worst possible scenarios. Redin's sharp mind blazed through any number of possibilities, considering all that he knew about the situation and all he didn't. He quickly found he wasn't pleased with having Sleet resting in their infirmary. It wasn't going to do.

He took the steps three at a time, his muscular form carrying him swiftly up the incline as he caught up to the otter. Keeping in stride behind the smaller figure, he glanced down a darkened hallway as they passed. "We ain't goin' t'yer 'firmary."

[Tirael]

"We ain't goin' t'yer 'firmary."

Tirael stopped. The statement seemed to halt all his thoughts, and he hesitated before he turned to look at Redin. "What? Why? She'll need a replacement for that poultice before long, and it'll be easier to treat her there," he questioned, though he got the distinct impression that convenience of treatment was the last thing in the weasel's mind. Noting with some dismay that the hallway was empty save for them, he grew wary, and made a mental note to keep facing Redin, at least until he knew what was going on.

[[Gah, short.]]

[Maxodis]

Redin prided himself on his ability to read other creatures' body language. While nowhere near as capable at expressing the depth of emotion as any other creature, he was able to identify much of what another was feeling by the subtle changes in their behavior. It would go unsaid that he first came to identify the changes in his victims: the changes in one's behavior were exponentially more profound when one was dying.

The otter didn't need to know that.

"What? Why? She'll need a replacement for that poultice before long, and it'll be easier to treat her there,"

Redin hadn't missed the hesitation in the younger creature before the otter posed his question, nor the slight tension that had creeped into Tirael's shoulders. Aware that his best bet would be to keep the situation reasonable and well-within his control, Redin turned casually, looking to where they had come from. There was silence in the dark hallway, although the weasel was almost certain that silent would shortly not remain the case. It wouldn't be long until the two vermin were an object of curiosity, if not alarm. Redin preferred to be prepared for the worst.

His voice level and even, as if discussing a matter that was of no consequence to him, he shrugged his shoulders lightly, Sleet's limp form shifting in his arms. "Yew c'n bring yer medicine witcha. Wot she... we, need, is a room at th' end o' a 'allway. An 'allway wit only one entrance."

[Tirael]

"Yew c'n bring yer medicine witcha. Wot she... we, need, is a room at th' end o' a 'allway. An 'allway wit only one entrance."

Tirael's face was utterly blank. What in the world could this weasel be thinking? "...uh...what?" was all he could think to say. "There's, um...there's an empty room like that upstairs...but...why?..." He hated this. If Sleet wasn't awake to confuse him, her friend gladly picked up the slack; in fact, this was even worse than Sleet's own brand of confusing. He couldn't think of any advantage to what Redin was requesting, for him, Sleet, or anybeast in the world. "If you're worried about somebeast trying to pull something, I promise you're quite safe..."

[Maxodis]

Redin was finding this whole situation more difficult to adapt to by the minute. Playing nice was one thing. He had found that he could put on pleasantries(Or at least, the best that the violent weasel could manage) and then, having fulfilled that, drop all communication with the other creature entirely. If they persisted in talking to(or to be more specific, at) him, Redin had found the regressing into his more familiar, violent behavior would bring about the same result. Frightened creatures didn't talk much. Neither did dead ones. Neither of these solutions were viable options, however. As deliciously appealing as they might seem, both would end up getting Redin and his unconscious charge in a far worse situation than they were already in.

There was going to be a significant amount of frustration in talking to the otter, he could already tell. The weasel was too accustomed to communicating with creatures that thought as he did, cancelling out the need to describe or explain much of his reasoning. To be more specific, he was accustomed to talking with Sleet, and sleet alone. After years of companionship, more often than not she could determine what he was thinking without so much of a glance at him. Their communication was generally reserved for insulting each other, cursing each other, and all fields in between. Sleet had always had more success in talking to and relating to other creatures, to the extent that on several occasions she had acted(Obviously with a high degree of amusement) as something of an interpreter. Nevermind that most of what she ever had to convey in words the weasel would convey in the amount of blood that the other creature would shortly find not in his body.

And thus, faced with the otter's trepidation and the knowledge that if he, Redin, harmed so much as a single fur on this otter's hide, bad things would happen, the weasel found himself momentarily at a loss for words. He stopped, fixing Tirael with a frustrated and accusing glare, as if to blame the younger creature for having to backtrack his thoughts in order to determine where the otter could have gotten lost. His eyes rolled up briefly, and he stared at the ceiling as he reviewed what he said and found no fault in them.

"If you're worried about somebeast trying to pull something, I promise you're quite safe..."

That brought his hard glare back down to the otter, as the slight realization clicked in. He spoke slowly, his low voice slightly mocking. "B'lieve me otter. I ain't worried 'bout us bein' safe." His muscular frame alone spoke volumes on that. The corner of his mouth pulled back in a wry grin. "But she ain't allowed no visitors eh? 'Ealer's orders. Yew c'n bet yore tail there's gonna be more'n one beast who ain't gonna like that an' be...." He shrugged, looking for a suitable word. ".... Persistant, aye?" He leaned down, his grin growing wider, one of Sleet's arms dangling limply from her side. "Soon 'nuff tha' 'firmary o' yores is gonna be full, an' I'll 'ave t'move 'er anyway, as creatures wit broken arms 'n noses c'n still try fer a spot o' revenge. Doin' yerself a favor, ye will."

He straightened, rising back to his full height. "Now then. Be a good lad an' show me t'this room, aye?"

[Tirael]

"B'lieve me otter. I ain't worried 'bout us bein' safe."

Redin's tone of voice irritated Tirael, though he kept his opinion to himself aside from a slight roll of his eyes. No matter what reasoning Redin had, he was concerned about something, and he certainly wasn't just shy. The otter's thoughts were cut off as Redin continued.

"But she ain't allowed no visitors eh? 'Ealer's orders. Yew c'n bet yore tail there's gonna be more'n one beast who ain't gonna like that an' be...." He shrugged, looking for a suitable word. ".... Persistant, aye?"

Tirael narrowed his eyes, partly in confusion and partly in disbelief. Redin had quite a clear misconception of how he and Sleet would be treated; they would certainly be avoided and under healthy suspicion, but the idea that half the Abbey would be out to slit their throats struck the healer as ridiculous. Obviously, the weasel had no idea how long Sleet had spent hanging around the edge of the camp while he'd been held captive, or he wouldn't be assuming they would be targeted by vengeful woodlanders.

"Soon 'nuff tha' 'firmary o' yores is gonna be full, an' I'll 'ave t'move 'er anyway, as creatures wit broken arms 'n noses c'n still try fer a spot o' revenge. Doin' yerself a favor, ye will. Now then. Be a good lad an' show me t'this room, aye?"

The otter shook his head incredulously. "Since you're her caretaker, I'll oblige, but I'll say this once--nobody here intends on 'a spot of revenge.' It's my job to make sure of that." Tirael pointed a paw at Redin, burying his concern that the weasel would break it off and fling it down the corridor. "And since we're not starting anything, don't you go breaking noses based on a false notion." After giving what he hoped looked like a resolute, warning expression, he turned and said, "It's this way," and resumed heading up the stairs.