"Get down!" Ralof hissed, "He may come back!" I looked up in the sky, but the dragon was already winging gracefully over a far-off valley, presumably looking for more villages to devour. "I still can't believe we made it out of there friend," Ralof wheezed as he leaned against a tree, "we should make our way to Riverwood, it isn't far from here." "We aren't going anywhere just yet friend," I told him, noticing a growing red spot on his side, "Oh, this? merely a scratch." He attempted to brush me off but nearly collapsed before I caught him. " There's no shame in a wound received in battle," I told him, "hold on to me, I smell a fire nearby." As I propped Ralof against a stump, I scouted ahead to clear the way, when I discovered the source of the fire. Three burly men were hunched over a scrap of paper muttering about something buried nearby, "Ho there!" I cried, "My friend is in need of a warm fire and clean rags, would you be-" I got no farther as the largest man picked up a massive broadsword and charged at me with a yell, as his companions followed suit I dodged his first sweep and buried my blade in his back before he could bring it around again, of his two companions, one fled off into the woods as the second nocked an arrow to his bow, he sent it strait into my chest, the tip piercing the shoddy imperial armor. Buckling over, I allowed the thug to approach me with dagger in hand, no doubt to gloat before cutting my throat, before he had gone ten paces I leaped up and swept my own blade under the chin and out the top of his head. He died still leering at his apparent victory. Turning to where the last man fled, I noticed with a growing panic, it was in the direction where I had left Ralof, but as soon as my fears came up, they were quickly dispelled when he came hobbling out of the brush using the dead man's hammer as a makeshift crutch. "He was in such a hurry to get away, he tripped over my foot and landed on my axe! such a tragic way to end," he exclaimed, clearly pleased. "Lets get some rags boiling, so your wound doesn't get worse, in the meantime, try not to move around." I told him as I busied myself with cutting the thugs' armor into strips and placing them in the water pot. With that taken care of I motioned for him to remove his tunic so I could examine the wound. It didn't look good, at least it was a clean cut, no bits of wood or metal, but long and deep, he wouldn't last the hour if the bleeding didn't stop. A flood of memories came back, as I remembered what my old friend, Olaf, had told me: "The power to regenerate yourself and others is in everyone. it just requires the proper state of mind. now go bother someone else, I'm not a damn book!" I do miss him. Wrenching my mind back to the present, I told Ralof, "Relax, try to move as little as possible, or I may do more harm than good." He complied, wearily. I closed my eyes and held the palm of my hand against his side, not two inches above the gash, I envisioned the wound, felt it's heat, and Imagined the torn flesh weaving whole, flayed muscle twisting together, and ruptured veins made whole, the excess blood flowing into the veins as they molded together once more. Unable to do more, I gasped and jerked my hand away, releasing the magic before it consumed me. All that remained was a red welt, where the once massive cut had been. "By Shor, you did that in mere seconds! even priests of Kynereth take weeks to heal a wound that large!" He was gingerly prodding it, but had the sense to not try and stand up immediately. "Are you okay? I don't think I can do what you just did." He said, noticing my fatigue. "I'll live," I told him. "I've been through worse."
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