Cri 23, 229: Men and Rivers

Men and Rivers
Summary: Kierne visits the recently retrieved Daimhin.
OOC Date: 27/04/2014
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None' — please, don't leave blank!)
Players:
Kierne Daimhin Valarius 
North-South Road
Crosswynds, yo.
IC date of RP

Cri 23

Another long day of lull between the armies. The tedium is driving some of the lads in camp a bit batty, and Kierne, for his part, sick to death of rations, gained leave from his Lord Knight to gather a band of strapping youth to take to the woods and trails southerly of the ancient fortification to ride, to let loose a bit of piss and vigor, to get the blood flowing— both theirs, in their own veins, and that of the animals of the wood. With the coming spring, the does are fattening with fawn and the game is plentiful about, if only they go far enough to find them. When they've returned, it's burdened down with as much as they could shoot and almost more than they could haul, but that great quantity of good red meat will be quickly swallowed down by such a host of men.

Kierne is still a growing lad, after all. If he makes it home, those there will probably mark that he's undergone another growth spurt, not necessarily able to be noted by those who see him on a day to day basis, but, as young men his age are wont to do, he's growing like a weed and eats like a horse to fuel the growth. Still, he's not insensible to those who cannot approach the spits, and as the leader of the hunt he's laid claim a whole haunch and a half a ribcage, fragrant and roasted, and brought them to the hospital grounds using a large shield for a platter, hauling it ahead of him with utensils enough stabbed into the flesh to carve fresh meat for those trying to recover, as well as for the healers themselves.

Valarius is sitting on the edge of one of the makeshift cots, his head bowed, his hands clasped and left hanging over his knees, his eyes half closed. The robe he wears is of the red one made for him by the hand of charity, though it has been scrubbed, there are stains on it that darken the colour. He's been working countless hours to save the men and women both, who have been brought here. Yet, half of those who have been brought in alive, leave dead. Infection was hard to keep from a man and not everyone could survive the miracles of surgery, for what limited supplies they had or did not have. But, the healers from the castle brought relief, yet, not quiet so for the Faithful, for there were only a few who had come to serve rites over men who were passing and what a weary duty that was. For as much as can be seen, Val is taking a moment to collect himself, before he is yet again require to make another round on the patients and speak for those who catch illness or infection. He doesn't even seem to register the fact that there's a party of hunters come to celebrate their catch with them.

Rest had been much of what occupied Damihin's time since her return to the camp, any protest of being looked after was met by smooth rebuttal. Healers did make the worst patients! Though any attempts had stopped short of them having to threaten to restrain her, not that it would have been hard. But the time in the cot and the bit of food that had gotten into her had brought improvements. Swelling was going down, bruises were however still quite colorful. But she was in proper clothing again and that helped to cover much, save the slightly stiff way she walked, her body was a bit stiff and sore yet. She had redawned her usual headscraf, securing back the dark auburn hair and covering much of the scars that remained from a long ago incident. To hear the commonation that came with the arrival of the freshly roasted meat had the woman pressing up from the cot she had been relegated to. Even if they let her yet see to some things, a few were enforcing a need for rest upon her. Rightfully so. But being idle wasn't much helping her mind any.

Kierne looks aside at V in his reverie, but passes by, not wishing to disturb him in a moment of much-needed rest. He grunts once as he re-adjusts the shield in his hands and passes it off to a few of those working diligently as orderlies on the hospital grounds, that they may divide up the meat and serve it up to the wounded. Then, hands thus frees, he lifts one to the back of his head and uses the other to swat at the side of his leg, looking askance and catching the glance from D, to whom he offers an uncertain bow of his head, taking a few slow steps closer, as though afraid he might scare her. "They should bring some by soon," he murmurs across a decent space between them. "Have you been able to eat anything?" He's not sure how much she's recovered, after all.

Valarius lifts his eyes slightly from their tired incline, gaze following after the steps of Kierne, but only just enough to register the squire is there, with his company of men who also pass by. Though he doesn't stop Kierne or even speak to him in his passing, noting where he goes. That's about it, as Valarius finally pushes himself up off the cot, moving to a wash basin that he finds some water to splash his face with. Be it dirty or not. What cloth he has to dab the water from could not be said to be clean enough, but it was the practice of washing one's face to awaken the senses that Val was truly after.

Before Daimhin can even think to swing her legs to the side of her cot to help with the serving of the meal, one of the healers is shooting her a stern look of 'don't even think about it'. A sigh is quickly followed be a slight wince as she does move to sit on the edge of her cot, even if she doesn't make to get up. There is a faint incline of her head towards the young man she finds bowing his towards her. Some flickering memory perhaps of him, points here and there were hazy in the way of some dream, well after being dumped off the horse. "Yes, I am sure they will. I do not worry of it." Her head gives a slight nodding,"I have been able to eat a little, small bites and tea." There is an attempt of a smile, which with the busted lip (which is looking much better now that's all cleaned up!) causes a faint wince. "They are insistent about people eating and drinking, I suppose it is a failing of us healers to push that."

Kierne squats down a distance from D's cot, resting his elbows on his knees and raking his fingernails through his hair in a ruffling scratch. "Yeah, guess so. Stands to reason. It gives strength, renews the body and spirit. I read once that a man is like a river," he offers gently. "That the shape is much the same, but, via the flow of atoms — in through ingestion and out through shedding and excretion — really he is rebuilt time and time and time again. The question, of course, is whether a man entirely rebuilt is still one and the same," he offers a twist of a smile along with the philosophical conundrum. "After all, one can never step into the same river twice."

Quietly, perhaps too quietly, Valarius slips out of the make shift hospital, the trail of red seen disappearing behind a flap of tent canvas, leaving the feast and philosophy to those who better need it. But then a busy infirmary, even on a battlefield is like that, people come and go.

Brown eyes follow the soldier's movements as he takes to the squatting position, Daimhin agrees,"It does help to rebuild body and spirit." Her eyes blink as he goes on the philoophical bent. They do not glaze over, there are to many of her own thoughts to allow that to occur. It is not much of a conundrum to her, a healer who has had to rebuild men. "They are not one and the same, we are not one and the same in one moment to the next. Event smaller than those that require a rebuilding bring change. A flood might forever change the course of a river, but so does a pebble displace it in its own way, enough of them pile to bring up greater change. it is simply the way of things. "

Kierne doesn't look much like a philosopher, after all, so it may well be a surprise. Except to V, who is probably already tired of listening to Kierne think about strange and unusual thoughts. But as D seems game to engage in discussion, KK draws an uneasy smile into place, and goes on: "Sometimes not even a small change is needful," he replies. "One pebble is replaced with another. Bits of dead skin are shed and new skin is born up from underneath. By simply being still, a man is in flux." The flash of red at the doorway is enough to draw his eye, and he shrugs up a shoulder discomfitedly. "When does he become something other than himself?"

And in general one does not expect philosophy within the field hosptial of an army. Around the camp fires, but that sort of philosphy is usually amongst the oldesr war vetrens. Discussion does take her mind from reliving events, and other thoughts that do little good. She cannot work, yet, this gives some distraction. "The river moves, even the pebble is not left to the place it first came to rest. It displaces the river, the river displaces and wears upon it. Both bring change upon one another." A hand lightly adjusts her scarf, an unconscious habit. "If change is an inevitable constent in all, is he not always of himself or is he always never something of him self but a thing reborn in each moment to something new."

"You mean to say that the parts of the thing do not make up the thing itself?" Kierne wonders. "But then what is it that we should call a river, or else a man?" he wonders. "That thing which though not the same is yet recognized to be what we consider it? Is it all driven by perception?" he questions onward, rubbing at his chin, escaping his own quantity of undesirable thoughts via esoteric considerations, since there's no wine to speak of to drown them in.

"The parts of a thing might be what makes it to be that thing, but what defines it? One might say a river is water with banks of and about it? Yet a pond is water and has such shores. Some would then say it is moving water, but then it can be countered that the ocean moves, a creek moves. " Daimhin counters lightly as the conversation continues. "Some is a many by his part. Yet again, what truly defines him? Is it his parts or that which we cannot truly define and indentify? Is it in the moment he grows from boy to man and even then what truyl defines that? A set age? A set act? Is it even the same for each in the end? But in the end, how does one truly define that which is always changing? It is ease that we call a river a river because that is easiest to percieve, easiest to be understood. Some will move on from that, for they see nothing more other will look beyond it and see the pebbles within."

"That's the definition of a river, but what about the identification of a particular river?" Philosophical discursions are full of water, and is it any wonder, given that the home of philosophy is so very surrounded by the stuff. Kierne: "If the water in that river is not the same, nor the configuration of its rocks the same, from second to second, could it be called the same river? Or what it it about that river, besides the water in it and besides its shores and stones, that makes it known to the senses to be itself and not another?"

"To consider as well what of two rivers that merge together, at what point do they cease to be of themselves and become another? Do they both cease to exist in that moment? Does a man cease to exist when he becomes part of an army? Does…" And at that moment there is a stern throat clearing from behind Kierne cause Diamhin to look to the healer holding a couple of plates of food. The man following it with,"Time to eat and get some rest, Diamhin." He looks down at the squating squire," You'll wear her out young man. Off with ya." Giving that healer's no nonsense look to Kierne before he moves to press the food upon Daimhin. The woman, for her part, offers incline of her head to Kierne, a murmured,"It was nice speaking with you."

Kierne pushes to his feet with a nod to the healer, giving Daimhin a quick salute as he does so. She may not be a Knight proper, but in his eyes she's earned some manner of stripes. "You'll have to tell me what conclusions you've come to next time I see you, OK?" It'll give her something to think about, at least. He backs off a couple of steps, dawdling in his retreat, then turns around to head back out to the campgrounds.

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