She understood his words.   The Northumbrian dialect, in which virtually all residents of the region had fluency, was much rooted in the Saxon language.<br/><br/>Morveya had been prepared for any number of possible responses.   But, the one the stranger actually<span style="font-style: italic">did</span>originate took her aback some.    Likening her to a Christian angel, and begging their god to forgive his life of less than perfect morals.  As his sort was rather wont to do, once the end loomed near for them.   Or at least seemed to.<br/><br/>It was after its fashion a sort of complement.    Her fair cheeks colored just faintly, until she caught that for the superficial reaction that it was, and silently chided herself.   Of course...yet perched upon the threshold of unconsciousness as he was, his mind would conjure some fancy like that, to fit with his dogma driven hopes and fears.    It was natural.  As well as encouraging.   For it meant that his brains were intact enough to think with such concepts.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Ah...if you but knew the truth, man!  The divinity that was involved in your saving has nothing to do with the one to whom you plead and pray...</span><br/><br/>What had transpired still amazed her.   And most probably would, to the very end of her days.   It was actually quite stunning to think about.   And –<span style="font-style: italic">Why?   Why him?  Why this Saxon stranger?</span>Prayers and invocations to save others lives often went unanswered.    With, if one was grounded enough in their faith, the understanding that once a mortal being's time was up, then no amount of chanting or exhortation could change or influence that.<br/><br/>Yet, this time it had.    To spare the life of a Christian warrior, no less.    She was puzzled, to put it mildly.  As well as no little awed.  But wise enough to recognize that it was not for her to question this.    Only to respond and to deal with it.   As she had, and was.<br/><br/>The fact that his words were raspy and weak was only to be expected, and therefore unconcerning.    But his saying that he could not move –  that could betoken very serious consequences.    For his sake, she prayed that it would not prove the case...<br/><br/>“This is the village called<span style="font-style: italic">Tearmann</span>.   Not far west of the Itouna's trunk.   Where we found you.   Your steed, too.   He was saved; in case that might worry you.”  She savored just a shade of irony, on this  point.   Had Acionna actually intervened for the<span style="font-style: italic">horse</span>, and the Saxon's salvation incidental?    It was a mean, unworthy thought, given this man's plight, and so she immediately quashed it.<br/><br/>“You too are quite alive. I assure you that.  And, what is possible will be done to aid you to heal from any injury.    You say you cannot move-?   Can you<span style="font-style: italic">feel</span>any portion of your body at all – from below the neck?”<br/><br/>As she looked upon his strained face, she considered those well-favored features,  the trappings in which he'd been found  –- this was a man of some breeding, as well as station, almost surely.   And how long before his own gave search for him-?   And what would they assume if they discovered him here?     She wasn't the only one to have that thought, she knew full well...