[ It is a relief, to not have to hold her weight on the leg, feeling its pang up her whole body in a way she had not felt pain linger in an age. The blackwater might be a cursed object, for all no one knew where it came from in truth, but it certainly stopped this problem, to say the least.

But the vial is no more than a liquid made of her own blood at her neck, keeping her alive, but healing her no longer. So she must endure her pride being made to hobble, leaning on this girl for how Lakshmi has aged now. Though it's not on her face, still young in appearance, small mercy that. ]

Unfortunately, it would seem so. But they are men, a good whack to their heads tends to sort them out where they get brash, so I've found the same too.