The running footsteps resolve into two figures in pale blue garments. "We've got a code blue in the east wing, corridor six!" one shouts over their shoulder, then drops to their knees beside Leareth.
"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" The figure places their hands on Leareth's chest, feeling for a heartbeat. A strange beeping sound starts up, slow but steady. "Patient unconscious, hypothermic, possible chest trauma. Let's get him on oxygen and start warming measures immediately!"
More figures arrive, bringing a strange wheeled contraption. They lift Leareth onto it as though he weighs nothing at all, securing straps across his chest and legs. A mask is fitted over his mouth and nose, cool air flowing into his lungs.
As they wheel him swiftly away down the corridor, Leareth struggles to open his eyes. The figures are blurry, and the walls seem too bright. His chest burns with every breath. Where in the gods' names has he ended up?

The patient is showing signs of responsiveness, opening his eyes and trying to turn his head to look around as they rush him down the hallway, but he looks blank, showing no sign of understanding, when the nurse tries to ask his name or if he knows where he is. (Leareth is trying to get Thoughtsensing up, but he can't quite concentrate well enough to pick up clearly on surface thoughts, and the language is foreign and incomprehensible to him.) 

He holds as still as he can and doesn't fight them when they reach the trauma bay and cut away his soaked clothes. He's pale, his skin cold, and bleeding slightly from several abrasions, with a bruise already forming across most of his left side. His heart rate is rapid, whether from pain and anxiety or shock, and his breathing is shallow and labored. Even with a non-rebreather mask hooked up to 100% oxygen, the pulse ox is only reading an O2 saturation of 95%. 

He coughs, curling up around the sharp pain in his side, and tastes blood. 

The figures swarm around him, speaking in urgent tones. Hands probe his chest and side, sending sharp spikes of pain through him. He grits his teeth, struggling not to cry out.
One of the figures barks an order, and a needle pierces Leareth's arm. Warmth begins to spread outward from it, easing the pain slightly. His eyelids grow heavy, darkness crowding in, even as more figures approach pushing a strange wheeled bed.
They lift him onto it, securing more straps across him. He feels himself begin to move, the ceiling sliding by above. The figures surround him, monitoring the beeping devices.
"Possible collapsed lung, maybe internal bleeding. We need to get him stabilized and warmed up before we can get scans. Let's move!"
The bed accelerates, wheeled rapidly down the corridor. Leareth tries to focus through the fog in his mind, but only strange symbols and diagrams catch his eye. Where in all the hells of every god and demon has his botched Gate taken him? He struggles to draw in a full breath against the vice around his chest. The darkness crowds in, even as he fights to remain conscious, to try and determine where he might be and how he can return home. But the warmth in his veins pulls him under at last, into deep, dreamless oblivion.

The patient's initial temperature is 33 C – not desperately low, but it could drop further as cold blood makes its way back from his extremities to his heart. He's clearly in enormous pain, holding himself rigid in the stretcher and flinching when the resident examines his bruised ribs. An initial dose of IV morphine before the trek over to the trauma ICU seems to make him a little more comfortable, his breathing evening out a little and his heart rate steadying at around 140. His eyes drift closed. 

Marian, a travel nurse from Canada who has been working at the Reno trauma ICU for three months, hurries out to meet her new admission and help move him into the ICU room. The rapid telephone report from the ER said that he was conscious, though not answering questions or able to follow instructions, but now she sees that his eyes are closed, and he doesn't react except for a slight grimace when the slide him across onto the ICU bed. He's breathing shallowly, but his color looks worryingly grayish and his oxygen saturation is down to only 91% on 100% oxygen. 

"Hey!" She reaches to squeeze his hand, then, when this gets no response, pinches his nailbed hard. "I'm so sorry, but I need you to try to open your eyes–?" 

The patient grimaces again, weakly pulling his arm away, but his eyes remain closed. His heart rate is rising again, back up to nearly 150 on the monitor, but the pulse at his neck feels weak and thready. 

Marian takes a deep breath, trying not to grit her teeth. "Hey! What's our last blood pressure -" She's trying to wrangle the wires to get him properly hooked up to the ICU monitor so she can get another reading, but she's very much not liking how the patient looks right now. 

The resident rattles off the last blood pressure reading from the ER as they finish transferring the patient to the ICU bed: 85/50. Low, and likely getting lower.
Marian swears under her breath. They need to get this man stabilized and warmed fast. "Alright, let's start fluid resuscitation, warm saline. Get me an arterial line in, I want to keep close tabs on his BP. Call down to the blood bank and have them start thawing plasma."
The nurses and technicians swing into action, quickly gaining venous and arterial access. Warm saline begins to flow through the lines, and two warming blankets are unfolded over the patient.
Marian checks his pupils - sluggish but reactive, another worrying sign. His oxygen levels are still dropping, down to 89% now. If he needs to be intubated, it will be difficult in his current state. Come on, she urges silently. Wake up for me. You need to breathe.
The blood pressure reading from the new arterial line pops up: 78/42. Much too low. His heart rate has climbed to 160 now, thready and erratic.
"Hang the plasma," Marian orders, trying to keep her voice steady. They're losing him. She can feel it with every fibre of her being, see his life slipping away minute by minute. Twenty years experience tells her this man is in grave danger. If he crashes now, she's not certain all the king's horses and all the king's men will be enough to call him back.
"Come on," she breathes, squeezing his hand tight. "Stay with me." His skin remains stubbornly cold and pale beneath the blankets. The plasma begins to flow. All they can do now is continue aggressive rewarming and hope the transfusion is enough to stabilise him before his body gives out entirely.

Two liters of warm saline and the first bag of plasma bring the patient's blood pressure up to 100/50, but his heart rate is still racing at 140, which is rather impressive given a body temperature still hovering at 33 C. He seems slightly more responsive, briefly opening his eyes in response to painful stimuli and more purposefully trying to push Marian's hands away, but he's still not very alert. 

He's also clearly in worsening respiratory distress - for the moment, he's maintaining an O2 saturation exactly at 90%, but with massively increased work of breathing, his nostrils flaring with every breath. Lifting the head of the bed helps, but makes his blood pressure drop again.  

At some point Leareth drags himself just barely awake enough to recognize that there are people around him. He reaches blindly for Marian's arm, hoping that physical contact will help him get through with Mindspeech. 

:Help: he sends. :I - cannot breathe -: 

Marian jumps at the unexpected voice. The patient must have spoken, but she's surprised he can manage to talk at all when he's struggling that much to breathe. "Hey. I know. I think we're going to have to put in a breathing tube to help you out, but - everything's going to be fine, I promise." 

She turns to look at the resident. "...Can we prep some pressors first? I'm worried giving him any sedation right now will tank his blood pressure again." 

The resident nods, already drawing up doses of dopamine and norepinephrine. "Good call. We'll have them ready to go as soon as he's intubated."
Marian squeezes her patient's hand again, hoping the contact provides some small measure of comfort. "We're going to put you on a ventilator now to help you breathe. I need you to try and stay as still as you can. We've got medications to make you more comfortable, but we have to get this tube in first, okay?"
His eyes flick open briefly, full of fear and pain, but he manages a small nod. Marian strokes his hair back from his forehead, silently willing him to remain calm.
The respiratory therapist steps up, laryngoscope in hand. "On three, take a deep breath and hold it," he instructs. Her patient's chest heaves as he struggles to comply. As the therapist inserts the blade and begins to pass the endotracheal tube, his body seizes in panic, alarms shrieking. The arterial line reading plummets again.
"Push the pressors!" Marian calls. The resident injects the drugs into the IV port. After a few heart-stopping seconds, the patient's blood pressure begins to climb again.
At last the endotracheal tube is in place. Marian lets out the breath she didn't realize she was holding as the ventilator is connected and begins to cycle. "Alright, you're doing great," she tells her patient. His eyes remain closed now, the drugs beginning to take effect. "The tube is in and the ventilator will breathe for you now. You just rest."
His heart rate and blood pressure, though still not ideal, seem to have stabilized for the moment. The immediate crisis has passed. Marian allows herself a small, weary smile. The battle is won, but the war has just begun.

Leareth holds as still as he can, falling back on centuries worth of hard-earned discipline and control. The breathing tube is uncomfortable, even with the drug they must have given him and that makes him feel like he’s floating and the room is very far away, but he does feel somewhat less like he’s suffocating. 

He tries to stay awake, but the sedation is hitting fully now and he's overwhelmingly sleepy. A last blurred glance at Marian's surface thoughts convinces him that he's not immediately in danger, and he lets the darkness carry him under. 

His blood pressure is tolerable for the moment, but his heart rate creeps back up to 150. When Marian listens to his lungs, she notices massively decreased air entry on the left side. 

Marian's heart sinks. A collapsed lung, or possibly a hemothorax, would explain the respiratory distress and tachycardia. They'll need a chest tube, and possibly emergency surgery.
She turns to the resident. "Looks like decreased left lung sounds. Call surgery and radiology, we need a chest tube and CT scan right now."
The resident hurries off to make the calls, as Marian continues her assessment. Her patient's pupils are equal and reactive again, which is reassuring. His IV sites look good, with warm saline and blood products still infusing. She checks the ET tube placement - also good. At least those things are stable for now.
When radiology arrives, they carefully maneuver her patient onto the CT scanner table. Marian watches the images appear on the monitor, knife-sharp. There, on the left side - a large hemothorax. No wonder his blood pressure had been so unstable.
The radiologist looks grave. "That's at least a liter of blood in the pleural cavity. We need to get it drained immediately."
In a flurry of activity they rush the patient to a procedure room, where the surgeons stand ready. Local anesthetic is injected, and a large chest tube inserted between the ribs. Immediately, dark blood begins to flow through to the drainage chamber.
Marian lets out a slow breath. Not out of the woods yet, but at least now they know the enemy they face. The chest tube is already improving her patient's breathing and blood pressure. As long as there are no other internal injuries, he has a fighting chance.
She stands vigil as the surgeons suture the chest tube in place. "You'll be alright," she tells her unconscious patient, hoping she speaks the truth.

By the time they make it back to the ICU, there's another unit of thawed plasma and two units of packed red blood cells waiting for her. (Getting a type-and-cross and matched blood took longer than expected, because the patient apparently has a weird blood type.) Marian sighs in relief, and tracks down another nurse to co-sign the blood with her and help her get her patient re-settled.

Her patient's temperature is finally up to normal, and his heart rate gradually settles down to 120, still high but less worryingly so. She's going to have to keep a very close eye on him, in case there's ongoing internal bleeding, but for the moment she feels tentatively hopeful. She's gradually able to decrease the norepinephrine drip, which is a positive sign. 

She's still kind of stressed about his breathing. Even now that his collapsed lung is re-expanded, he sounds crackly, hinting at aspiration pneumonia from the river water. (Which Marian is still quietly mystified about; she got a rather unclear and confusing report on how he ended up at the hospital after nearly drowning, not to mention how he collected some serious injuries in the process. As well as several broken ribs, the CT scan incidentally showed a dislocated left shoulder and hairline fracture in his humerus; he clearly took a lot of force on that side, from something. They'll need to consult orthopedic surgery to deal with that too once he's more stable.) 

Marian sends off a full set of labs, and sits down to catch up on her charting and watch her patient while she waits for the results to come back. 

The lab results, when they return, are mixed. Her patient's hemoglobin and hematocrit have dropped, even after the transfusions, though not dangerously so yet. His white count is elevated, indicating infection as Marian feared. On the positive side, his chemistries and coagulation panels aren't too badly off. It seems the massive fluid shifts and blood loss have done a number on his system, but with continued correction and monitoring he should stabilize.
Marian finishes charting the new information and vitals, then performs another full assessment of her patient. His breath sounds remain crackly, sputum still tinged pink with blood. She suctions out the ET tube and collects samples to send for culture. His pupils remain equal and reactive, and while still deeply unconscious, he seems to react to painful stimuli. She notes the large bruise spreading down his left side, already dark shades of purple and red. Whatever happened to land him here, it's a miracle he has no other obvious broken bones.
The orthopedic consult places his dislocated shoulder without issue, though they elect to wait until he is more stable before addressing the fracture. After a few tense days battling pneumonia and ensuring his lung remains re-inflated, her patient is at last beginning to improve. His white count drops back to normal levels, antibiotics and repositioning therapy clearing the infection. His hemoglobin creeps upward again with vitamin supplements. The nurses gradually lighten his sedation, and one morning as Marian goes to assess him, she finds his eyes open.
He blinks groggily up at the ceiling, then turns his head slightly to look at her. For the first time, Marian finds herself gazing into clear grey eyes. Though exhaustion and confusion are written in his features, his eyes seem strangely alert. He opens his mouth to speak around the ET tube, and Marian moves quickly to his side.
"Don't try to talk," she tells him gently. "You've been very ill, but you're getting better. Blink once for yes, twice for no - do you understand?"
He blinks once, eyes still fixed on her face. Marian smiles, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Good. Welcome back."

Leareth tries taking a deep breath, and notes with satisfaction that - while the tube is definitely uncomfortable - he can breathe without difficulty, and with only some pain. 

He recognizes the young woman's face, though he can't recall her name; he assumes she's introduced herself before but it's been a very hazy few days and he mostly hasn't tried to fight the drugs to wake up. His head is clearer now, though he still feels exhausted. 

His surroundings continue to be deeply unfamiliar and strange, and he doesn't recognize the language at all, which is odd, he's not fluent in every language in Velgarth but he would at least recognize most language families. The young woman's surface thoughts are reassuring, though. 

He pulls together his concentration. :Where am I?: he sends in Mindspeech. 

Marian jumps in surprise as the voice echoes suddenly in her mind. Her patient - did he just speak directly into her thoughts?
She stares down at him, stunned. His grey eyes remain fixed on her face, watching her reaction closely. After a long moment, she shakes off her shock. However impossible it seems, she can't deny what just happened.
"You're - communicating telepathically," she says slowly. He blinks once in affirmation. "I've never encountered that before." This is far outside her scope of experience, but she's determined to remain professional. She clears her throat, recovering her composure.
"You're in the intensive care unit of Renown Regional Medical Center, in Reno, Nevada." She pauses, then adds, "On Earth."
His eyes widen slightly in what seems to be surprise. So, not from around here, then. She thinks of his strange blood type, the unusual breaks and bruises. The river water they drained from his lungs. Just who is this man?
While she wrestles with this new mystery, his exhaustion seems to catch up to him again. His eyes drift closed once more, breaths evening out as he slips back into sleep.
Marian sits back in her chair, stunned anew. Her patient isn't just any John Doe. She has no idea where he might be from, but it's clearly not anywhere near here. He seems able to speak directly into minds, and understands English well enough to communicate. And, if the severity of his injuries are any indication, someone or something wanted him out of the picture.
She shakes her head in bemusement. When she accepted a travel nursing contract, she'd expected interesting cases, but nothing quite like this. This changes everything. She'll have to watch over him even more closely now. And when he wakes again, she has a great many questions only he can answer. The mystery of the man in room 374 has only just begun.

Leareth floats for a while, occasionally half-waking just enough to remember the brief conversation with 'Marian', try to figure out what to possibly do about it, and conclude that he's still way to foggy to have complex thoughts. He doesn't think he's exactly safe, here, but he's not that worried that he's immediately in danger, and either way he's not going to be more able to respond to it if he tries to avoid resting. 

He's still asleep, at least to all outside appearances, when the resident tracks down Marian to ask how her patient is doing today so they can prepare for rounds. 

Marian glances over at her sleeping patient, considering how much to reveal. His miraculous awakening and telepathic ability seem impossible to explain without sounding mad. But his doctors will need to know the truth eventually, if they're to properly treat him.
She takes a deep breath. "He woke briefly today. He seems aware of his surroundings, and was able to blink to communicate. I know this will sound strange, but..." She struggles to find the words. "He appears able to speak telepathically. Directly into my mind."
The resident stares at her in disbelief. "Telepathically? I - how is that possible?"
"I have no idea," Marian says frankly. "But I heard his voice in my head, as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud. He understood me when I spoke, and indicated he knows he's in hospital, and on Earth."
The resident rubs his forehead, nonplussed. "That's - I don't even know what to make of that. Are you certain you weren't mistaken?"
"I know how improbable it sounds. But I know what I experienced."
He shakes his head slowly. "If what you say is true...this changes everything about this case. You're sure he seemed otherwise normal - oriented, responsive?"
"As much as could be expected, given his ordeal. His vitals were stable, pupils equal and reactive. Aside from the means of communication, he seemed rational."
"And you have no explanation for how any of this could be possible." The resident sighs. "Alright. We'll have to see what the attending physician thinks of all this. In the meantime, keep a close eye on him - we have no idea what he might be capable of, if he's truly telepathic. This is well outside anything I studied in medical school."
Marian nods. "Believe me, I intend to." No matter how impossible it seems, she knows what she heard. And she means to uncover the truth about the mysterious sleeping man, and how he came to be here.

Under Marian's close supervision, Leareth continues to recover well. At her noon assessment, he's still asleep but can be easily woken, and manages to keep his eyes open and watching her with curiosity the entire time she's examining him. He's trying to pick up on what she's checking for, but her surface thoughts are moving very fast, dancing and leaping between concepts half of which are unfamiliar to him - numbers on a screen, numbers that are somehow associated with his blood, like some kind of prosthetic Healing-Sight for the un-Gifted. 

It does seem relevant to have a better sense of how he's doing. 

:How am I doing?: he asks her once she's swinging the stethoscope back into place around her neck. :And - what exactly happened, that you know of, what was wrong with me? I know I was injured and have been very ill but I do not remember the details very well. How long have I been here?: 

Marian starts at the voice in her head again, but quickly recovers. She pulls a chair up to his bedside, considering how best to explain.
"You were admitted four days ago in critical condition. When you arrived, you were suffering from hypothermia, shock, and a collapsed lung from internal bleeding. We were able to stabilize you, but you developed pneumonia and have been sedated for most of your time here while we treated you."
She hesitates, then decides he deserves the full truth. "You had some significant injuries - several broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and minor break in your upper arm. There was over a liter of blood in your chest cavity. We still don't know the cause of your injuries, only that you were pulled from a river. You were unresponsive at first, and we had no identification to determine who you were."
She pauses, letting that sink in. "Your condition has been improving, the pneumonia is clearing and your lung function is recovering well. But you still have a long road ahead. How much do you remember of how you came to be in this state?"
He blinks slowly, absorbing the details of his ordeal. After a long moment, he replies, :Very little. I was - traveling. Attempting a difficult journey. There were complications. Beyond that, my memories are unclear.:
Traveling. From where - and to where? Marian senses pressing for more details now might distress him. She keeps her tone gentle but professional.
"I see. Well, for now focus on resting and healing. We can try to piece together more of what happened once you've regained your strength." She offers an encouraging smile. "All things considered, you seem to be recovering remarkably well. But telepathy or no, you're still human - don't overtax yourself."
He gives a small nod. :Your advice is sound. Thank you, Marian - for all you have done.:
His use of her name sends a strange thrill through her. "You're welcome," she replies, hoping the heat in her cheeks isn't too visible. She has a feeling this is only the beginning of the mysteries yet to unfold around this impossible, captivating man.

Leareth rests as instructed. The next time he wakes, more of the sedation is wearing off. He's somewhat uncomfortable, but he can cope with it and stay calm, and his head is clearer. 

He retraces the memory of his journey to Rethwellan. He had been on his way into the city in foot, to avoid attracting attention with a direct Gate - there was a bridge - 

- he remembers the masonry collapsing under him, debris slamming into his shields as he was dumped into the frozen river - remembers scrabbling against the ice, trying to pull together the mage-energies to break his way through to the surface. Everything after that is hazy, but presumably he...Gated here...? He must not have intended this destination, since he still doesn't have the slightest idea where 'here' is.

The memory of it is very vivid, and actually quite distressing. Leareth tenses, trying very hard to stay in control of his breathing. 

Marian notices the change immediately. Her patient's heart rate rises, and he seems distressed, brow furrowing and breathing quickening. She moves quickly to his side, reaching to place a calming hand on his uninjured shoulder.
"Hey, it's alright," she says soothingly. "You're safe now. Whatever it is you're remembering, it's over."
He turns his head to look at her, eyes full of remembered fear and pain. :The bridge collapsed,: he sends. :I was in the river. The water was so cold...I could not break free.:
His obvious panic tugs at her heart. She grips his hand tightly, anchoring him in the present. "You're not there now. You're here, in hospital, and healing well. Try to take deep, slow breaths for me."
Gradually his heart rate declines and his breathing settles. The panic fades from his eyes, though he still seems shaken. Marian keeps her hand on his, hoping the contact provides some comfort.
"Do you remember how you came here, after that?" she prompts gently. The more details they can assemble about his ordeal, the better.
He shakes his head slightly. :No. I was trying to...to teleport myself to safety. I must have lost control of the energies, because the next I remember is waking here.:
Teleport. Her curiosity spikes at this strange new word, though she avoids questioning him about it directly for now. "I see. You were lucky we found you when we did. A few minutes more in those freezing waters, and..." She doesn't need to finish the thought.
:I know,: he replies. :I am fortunate you were able to save me.: His grip tightens briefly on her hand. :Thank you, again.:
Marian offers a warm smile. "You're most welcome." His open gratitude and trust stir a confusing swirl of emotions in her. However impossible the situation, she's determined to see him through this. There are too many mysteries surrounding this strange, compelling man still left to unfold.

Leareth looks up at Marian. He's drawing more reassurance from her presence than he would have expected; usually it takes him a lot longer than this to feel comfortable with strangers. Maybe it's easier because he's been completely helpless in her presence for days, which sends a very strong signal to his subconscious mind that she doesn't want to hurt him, since she so easily could have before now. And she's young, but she seems determined, and - in control of the situation, every fact about his condition memorized and effortlessly at hand. He can respect that. 

:My name is Leareth: he sends. :I - am from very far from here. If you have never heard of Gifts: and he's getting the sense that she hasn't, :then - perhaps even farther than I realized.: 

Marian's eyes widen slightly at this new revelation. Leareth. An unusual name, to match an unusual man. And 'very far' seems an understatement, if his reference to these 'Gifts' and teleportation are any indication. Just where did he come from?
"It's good to meet you properly, Leareth," she says. "I'm Marian, as you know. And you seem to have traveled...quite a long way to end up here." She hesitates. "I have to admit, I've never heard of Gifts, or teleportation as you described. This is...far beyond my experience."
He inclines his head slightly. :I suspected as much. I apologize for the confusion - I seem to have landed in a place entirely foreign to me.:
"There's no need to apologize," Marian assures him. "Though I can understand why waking in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar things, would be distressing. Please, feel free to ask me anything - I want to help make this easier for you, however I can."
Leareth's eyes search her face, as if gauging her sincerity. :You have already helped a great deal, Marian. Your care likely saved my life. But - there is still much I do not understand about where or when I find myself.:
When. Her heart skips a beat. Does he mean to imply he's not only from somewhere far removed, but some when? She pushes the dizzying thought aside for now.
"I understand you're still recovering your strength," she says carefully, "but please, ask anything you wish. I will do my best to answer." She offers an encouraging smile, hoping to set him at ease. "And try not to worry - we'll figure this all out together."
His expression softens, tension easing from his features. :Thank you. Your kindness means a great deal.: He pauses, considering where to begin. :To start...what place is this, that you call Renown Regional Medical Center?:

Wow. Okay. You would think this would be a straightforward question to answer but where do you even start, when your patient is an alien wizard - well, humanish, physiologically speaking the weirdest thing she's noticed about him so far is his blood type, but a wizard - who claims to be from another world. 

"Uh, Renown is the biggest hospital in the region. We're based in Reno, which is a city in Nevada, which is, uh, one of about fifty states in the United States of America." She didn't go to school here and can never remember if it's exactly 51 or slightly more than that and now she's embarrassed about it.

"Um, the year is 2016. Technically counted from the birth of Jesus Christ," which wow she incredibly does not want to unpack right now and end up having a weird conversation about world religion with the wizard from another world. "US is one of the richest countries in the world, but it's not actually one of the biggest, there are around 300 million people and the world in total has over seven billion. China and India are countries on a different continent and they have over a billion people each..." 

Leareth stares at her. Seven billion. It's almost unimaginable. 

...He's trying to chase down an earlier fragment of thought that he caught onto. It's important. 

:Marian. What gods does your world have? ...Does it have gods, who - take actions to control the lives of mortals?: 

Marian hesitates, unsure how to explain this delicately. "There are many religions on this world, and people worship different gods - or no god at all. As for gods directly controlling mortal lives...most people don't believe that literally happens."
She shrugs apologetically. "I don't follow any particular faith. Science and medicine are more my areas of expertise." She doesn't want to offend him if he does hold certain religious beliefs, but feels it's best to be honest.
Leareth nods slowly, absorbing this. :I see. Then - your world operates on different principles than mine.: He pauses, seeming to consider his words carefully. :Where I come from, the gods - and their servants, including myself - take a more...direct role in guiding mortal affairs.:
Marian's eyes widen. There's a lot implied in those words that she's not sure she's ready to unpack just yet. "I...see," she says faintly. Servant of the gods - is that how he sees himself? And they guide mortal affairs directly - how? Her curiosity wars with caution.
Leareth gives her a wry half-smile, as if sensing her internal conflict. :It is a great deal to take in, I know. And I have already said more than I should, in my weakened state.:
She shakes off her shock, focusing on the present. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." She smiles, hoping to reassure him. "We can speak more of this once you've recovered. For now, get some rest."
He nods gratefully. :Thank you, Marian. Your discretion and patience are much appreciated.: His eyes drift closed again as exhaustion claims him.
Marian sits back with a sigh. Her mysterious patient seems determined to upend everything she thinks she knows. Servant of the gods. Magic and teleportation. Just what has she stumbled into here - and how much stranger might things become before this is through?