The sharp angles and crinkling brow of the petite woman softened visibly when she settled her attention down onto the sleeping bundle swaddled in the crib, erasing the years she wore on her hunched shoulders for even this brief moment. Marlon was no more than thirty or so - a woman grown, for sure, but not all that old yet. She had experience in the crinkle of her eyes, and more stress than someone her age should have felt in the crooked grin of her smile. And despite the cropped raven hair, it framed a pixie’s face, all upturned nose and angles, complete with a rosebud mouth. Carefully, she reached into the crib and pulled the sleeping babe up into her own, cradling the tiny face close to her breast. A wistful look came and went across the woman’s face, dissipated just like the mists of the sea.<br/><br/><br/>Hesitating, Marlon glanced back up at the dragon wearing a human skin, disdain quick to overcome the feminine softness that had previously caressed her face. There was blatant distrust there in the pair of shimmering blue eyes and, once more, her lips twisted. But she still pushed her arms up, presenting the baby up to him just the same.<br/><br/><br/>“Well, this is her. Laraday. Her people forsake their surnames when they become priestesses, so her mother had none to pass along to her, and it is not right yet for her to be called a Tyrven. Though…” Her lips pursed wryly as she looked him over more carefully. “You look like them. It is not surprise to me that you also follow a woman, serving her; that is their way as well.” She chuckled softly under her breath. “Only rumor has it that they lose their most important parts before they can really feel it--” She glanced pointedly down between the dragon’s legs, assuming that they were the same as any man, even wearing the skin of one.<br/><br/><br/>The infant, with her pinched face and stray strands of ink dark hair like soft down on her skull, writhed inside her blanket when she was lifted up, but her eyes did not open from their slumber just yet. She was swarthy even so young, though, and Marlon knew that once her squeezed shut eyes opened, they reflected the blue green of the waters this far south. “Be careful with her now. You may think she is the daughter of some goddess, but she’s still a wee babe.”<br/><br/><br/>Once more, her attention softened once he took the infant from her arms, forgetting herself briefly. Only when he spoke up to ask her who she was did her spine stiffen and the bittersweet irony returned to her hard stare. “I call myself Marlon nowadays, though my surname was once Allende. No more, not really, a Loremaster forgoes their namesake as well when they choose to fully devote themselves to what we do. Rest assured, no matter what the fools of the world think, to be a true Loremaster is not simply not court bard.”<br/><br/><br/><br/>~~~<br/><br/><br/><br/>Back inside the turmoil of the hall, Miri’s lips tingled as if she had truly been kissed by the dragon. Her jaw pulsed with the lingering touch of Cria’s fingers. And now the necklace settled heavily against her collarbone, a reminder of its seductive powers. It caressed her more intimately than the dragon did, in secret ways, as if it were the hidden lover between her legs teasing her womanhood to bloom. This kind of seduction was dangerous, because it was not something tangible as skin and lips and looking into another’s eyes was. This penetrated deeper than anything else, and for that, she made an unspoken vow to rid herself of the pendant as soon as the dragons had parted from the House. She herself could not leave its confines, but this was a mere waystation for most -- especially to beings as ancient, powerful, and indifferent to this mundane world as the dragons.<br/><br/><br/>She reasoned with her mind with this logic as she fought the itching between her shoulder blades to look back at the dark haired figment that was her tangible reminder of seduction. Instead, her almond stare focused on the first body that moaned up at her from a cot, nestled in bloodied sheets and bloodier bandages. She knelt down, making sure her hair was pushed out of her face and clipped at her nape, that her sleeves were rolled up and her hands dunked in one of the many pales of water scattered through the hall. It was a young man that looked wide eyed up at her now; young enough to have no lines, old enough that he wore a scruff of a beard on his face and the sun baked into his skin. With the way he clutched his arm close to his chest, that was where Miri would start.<br/><br/><br/>The serene smile she cast his way seemed to ease the pain he wore on his face. She nodded gently toward the bandaged arm he clutched and held out her hand without a word. Reluctantly, the young man peeled the appendage away from his chest and held it, shaking, out toward her. Now that he had her full attention, Miri could more easily ignore the dragon that hovered behind her to focus her attention on unwinding the bandage turned crimson while he waited for one of the House’s own to make their rounds. Miri was not the only one hunched over one of the dozens of souls that sought solace here - either to be healed or pass on - as there were both men and women in the House’s plain robes tending to the wounded that had come over to neutral territory. However, if she did think about it for too long or too hard, the fear that the House’s rules would be ignored by the soldiers who had caused the amount of devastation that led to this clawed at her throat. House Sur did not have many warriors to their name; they were most known for their healing craft, after all.<br/><br/><br/>So Miri concentrated on keeping her hands steady as she unwrapped the damage and assessed the gaping wound underneath with a critical eye instead of a sympathetic one. Whatever had been used as a weapon had taken a chunk from the young man’s forearm, leaving a mess behind. They would not be able to sew it shut with the amount of damage, and could only patch it and hoped the skin weaved itself back together -- else he was going to lose the arm. Grimacing, Miri reached inside the satchel that had appeared beside her as a girl passed her on her way out, leaving her own behind. She cleaned the wound as thoroughly as she could and packed it with a mixture of herbs and salves to calm the pain he would feel once the shock wore off and the reality settled in his mind. After, she wound clean bandages taut around the injury and stood.<br/><br/><br/>It was silently, stoically, that the young woman made her rounds through the hall until the sun had dipped below the horizon and the lanterns had to be lit to illuminate their progress. She stopped only once, and that was now, with a haggard look worn on her face. Splattered with blood and other things, she stood up from an older woman whose face was black and blue from the blunt force trauma she had taken and moved to lean against a wall, her head tilting back and an exhausted sigh leaving her lips. At this point, she had even forgotten that Cria had been shadowing her.