<div class="floatleft">(http://i307.photobucket.com/albums/nn313/NovemberWerewolf/Female%20Characters/Half_Elf_Girl_by_kerembeyit.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Drake Turrel<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Reach, just outside of Markarth.<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Dark<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Aelfgar, Iljana, Moric, Open.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>If Drake were to be honest with herself then she would admit that these curious questions coming from Iljana were a little overwhelming for her. It was something of a challenge to keep the placid façade tightly under control on both her face and within her body language. But, since the last three months were spent mostly in solitude, minus her grumblings at the occasional pack of bandits and Forsworn alike, intelligent conversation had been an absent part of her life. She didn’t entirely understand how she felt about having it back in abundance, since not too long ago she had engaged with the tallest nord she had ever seen, a man who stood silently at Iljana’s side in order to take the burden of supporting herself with sustained injuries. Had she changed so much already? And were these changes the sort she wanted?<br/><br/>Had she been alone, a soft curse would have left her lips at that exact moment, but instead she shook her head to answer the woman’s first two questions and shifted her palms so that they were slightly cupped and just inches from the woman’s clavicles. The glowing grew brighter, casting those around her in the soft hue that tingled Iljana’s skin pleasantly. Without pain, flesh seemed to melt together; restitching itself just as it had done to Aelfgar not ten minutes before. Pain ebbed away, sensation of flesh returned where it had been ripped asunder and after nearly a solid minute of keen focus, all that remained on the woman were the red flesh of new skin just a little tender to the touch.<br/><br/>The elf lowered her hands, the glow dying out almost instantly. “You will feel right again tomorrow after some rest and a warm meal.” With a fluid half-shrug, Drake took a step back in order to give Iljana her personal space again. Now she turned her attentions to the Breton, quirking one slender, dark brow in question. “Shall I tend to you next?” He seemed healthy enough, if a little battered from a scuffle at one point in recent history. Forsworn? If so, and they were attacking this close to Markarth, perhaps that should be taken into consideration?<br/><br/>She just wanted to get to Whiterun and be done with this. Perhaps she had changed more than she thought? Suddenly, stepping food in a city full of people felt daunting; if a company of three were starting to spook her, what about adding a few dozen more? And going without Asher at her side caused her heart to sink into the pit of her stomach, filling her with a cold, nagging dread. Perhaps she could ask Aelfgar for a favor, or penance for healing his hand?<br/><br/>Yet, even still, she knew this needed to be done. Getting over her anxiety here would make it easier to do so in Whiterun, where she intended to establish her life and make her family proud. Sometimes the only options were uncomfortable ones. And a nice, soft bed did sound rather enticing… perhaps a hot bath as well? Remembering these little luxuries helped, and gave her the strength she needed at least to get to the gate. Hopefully by the time she reached them Drake would have figured out how to pass through.