"What was that?" he asked rather hazily.
"That," said Morwen, "was a sword. They are long, pointed, and very sharp. You're lucky it didn't take your head off."
Telemain started to shake his head, then winced. "A plain sword. No wonder I couldn't block it. I thought it was a spell."
Morwen snorted. "You may be one of the greatest magical theoreticians in the world, but you don't have a particle of common sense," she said acidly. "Why, in heaven's name, didn't you duck?"
"I did duck!" Telemain said, looking startled and indignant. "He was aiming for my chest, not my shoulder. And if you think I'm going to put up with you and your -"
"You," Morwen said firmly, "are going to put up with me until that shoulder is healed. Which, I may remind you, means that I will have to put up with you for the same period of time. Fortunately, it shouldn't take long - a few days, at most."
"A few days!" Telemain said. "Are you mad? It'll take at least a week!"
"Not if I change the herbs twice a day," Morwen said in an irritated tone. "I should know. It's my field."
"Well, it's my shoulder!"
"I'm so glad you noticed," Morwen said. "Stop fussing, or you'll make things worse and I WILL have to put up with you for a week."
"If I have to continue lying on this floor - which is cold, hard, and extremely uncomfortable - you'll have to put up with me a lot longer than that!"
Morwen got a peculiar look on her face. "I'll consider the idea carefully. Meanwhile"-she looked past Shiara and me- "Mendanbar, can you provide a room for this stubborn....magician?"
"Easily," said the King of the Enchanted Forest from the doorway behind us. "Which room do you want?"
"The brown one," Morwen said before Telemain could answer. "He'll need a firm bed to support that shoulder."