Stranger in a familiar land

[Helena]

Talin Sedai, Yellow Ajah

“I wouldn’t suggest wiggling about too much, in your state.”

Talin sat some distance away, in a passably comfortable chair angled for the chore. An open book balanced neatly on her lap, one hand making cramped notes on its small pages.

After cleaning herself raw (light but the memory of all that filth) she’d slept for a few hours herself in a room under Kaori’s watchful guard. The after-effects of usual healing quite blessedly proved not to weigh the same burden, but it didn’t ease the fatigue from long surgery and complicated weaving. Afterwards she’d returned a jealous guard over the patient, not from any care towards sentimentality so much as a desire to witness every ragged breath, and to begin immortalising the steps she took in her notebook. She had insisted on the farmer’s own room, which was not grand, but was the best poor Tarein shepherds could offer. That was not for the stranger’s comfort either. Mostly it was because Talin had no desire to sit and work in a barn, whether the straw was fresh or not.

The notes were for her own use, not for later dissemination but for recording her progress and systematically plotting out the rest of his care. Her sparse handwriting filled several pages alongside diagrams in the hours he had rested. Talin already suspected this was not the kind of paper that was going to win her renown, of course; not because it was not remarkable work, but because of a little question of identity. Fortunately it was not amongst her motivations to pivot herself to infamy. What need had she of the Tower’s fawning or approval? The opportunity here was too grand to worry about morality. But while she might not care what her Sisters thought, she was committed to self-survival.

“You’d expect a little gratitude for the miracle, but the goodwife is only concerned about the state of her kitchen. Somehow I have a feeling you are not about to thank me either.” Her steady hand paused. The room was too small for a desk, which was a trifling inconvenience. A flick of saidar dried the ink, upon which she closed the small tomb, and looked up. His hearing was still damaged, but she knew he could hear well enough at the volume she spoke. Whether he flailed into panic now that consciousness had returned was another question, but she paused long enough to ascertain whether it was worth continuing.

“You may call me Talin Sedai, and I am quite content to call you “patient.” I suspect from the manner of your torture you are not someone I should like to know in any great detail. Frankly, I am ambivalent to whoever you are or what you may have done. However, I am not foolish either. Now that you are awake, I believe it is a good time for us to meet an accord.”