The Battle of Eagle and Lion more or less continues without major issue, however the sudden change from possessing too much time on her hands to the overwhelming deluge of losers that require examination isn't ideal either. It doesn't take long at all for her ears to grow tired of the constant demands and bellyaching, patience dwindling as the healers on duty must attempt to accomodate everyone at expense of their energy.
Nonetheless, she trudges along as instructed, at least grateful she no longer has to twiddle her thumbs.
"Are you cold?" Sara entreats, cornering him during a lull in work, when she comes to a stop to assess his condition. "As a spectator, the wind chill this time of year becomes far more noticeable. I can fetch some cider if you need help warming up."
Even if she is in part using him as a distraction, returning the kindness he has paid her only feels right and the break would be nice too.
Was she making fun of him? This girl had always had an odd sense of humor, one that hunted in twists and turns and made the other work to put it all together as though it had been obvious all along.
Fodlan's so called Reason did not come as naturally to him as gifts of the body, places that he could fuel his emotion into a singular, vicious focus - but he had to admit, that it had gotten him further in the melee than it ever had, even with its misses.
Raven cocked his head in consideration before deciding no, this did not feel like other instances where Sara had prodded at sore spots looking for a flinch - this felt like a young girl, looking to provide comfort, and not quite knowing how.
"I run warm," he replied, "but...if there's cider, I suppose I wouldn't say no to sharing a flagon."
He had been fond of it, at home.