Lionhearts ||Skephalo||

67

Dream stumbles down the hall, barely aware of the crossbow trained on him and the swords very obviously ready for combat.
All he can feel is George's dimming life as the blood continues to drip down to the floor, causing a few of the guards to wrinkle their noses in disgust. He's not sure what he expects from a piglin infirmary; an open air room with buckets of water and mats, at most.

The room they enter is a far cry from the primitive image he'd had, though.

Beds, actual beds, line the walls, and various containers dot the alcoves in the walls, along with rolls of bandages and other medical supplies. His surprise must show; one of the guards makes a remark that, though he doesn't know what exactly is said, drips with unmistakable snarkiness.

They walk to the far side of the room, away from other patients, and George is set down on one of the beds. Sapnap sets Skeppy in the bed next to the archer's, and the guard who'd convinced the captain to allow them to care for their injured speaks up.

"What do you need to care for their injuries?" Dream blinks a few times, exhaustion setting in.

"...you speak our language well," he murmurs, and then shakes his head, "Uh, bandages, cloths. If you have anything to clean delicate injuries that get infected easily- like eyes- that would be appreciated."

"Water?" The guard contributes dryly.

"I thought there wasn't any here," Dream mumbles as he nods. The guard explains patiently,

"We bring it in bottles and containers from the Overworld. It's boiled so it's clean, don't concern yourself with that." He shifts back to the piglin language, and directs the others to the door, presumably telling them to stand guard. "I'll go get some. The infection—" He seems to fumble for an appropriate word (that eludes him) "—preventer, is in the red containers. Don't use too much or it could hurt him. Only a handful." The amount he gestures is more of a palmful, but his message gets across fine.

He leaves to go fetch the water, and Dream reaches for the supplies he'd been directed to, aware of others in the infirmary watching him; some with curiosity, others with hostility. A young piglin slips out of bed and scampers over, blinking deep purple eyes up at him as they ask him something curiously. Wilbur fades in, and tells him softly,

"He wants to know if you're a demon or one of the human angels."

"You guys believe in angels?" Dream murmurs, and the youth blinks innocently up at him.

"He's magesick," Wilbur sighs. "Sometimes, young piglin mages fall ill and develop blockages or sort of...overreactions, to mana. They tend to have visions and see things beyond this world."

The little piglin sways slightly, and Dream sighs as he hears the question repeated.

"What's the word for 'neither'? How do I say I'm just a person?" Wilbur doubtfully relays the message to the little mage, who shakes his head, tugging on Dream's elytra.

"You have wings," Wilbur translates as Dream uses a cloth to wipe away the dark liquid still seeping from George's skin.

"Tell him they're just a special invention," Dream replies, focusing on cleaning the injuries. Wilbur nods, and informs him. Sapnap softly whispers,

"Will, please—come help, I don't know what's wrong..."

The guard returns with a metal container, and he calls gently, but with a reprimanding tone,

"Mason!" The young piglin jumps guiltily; is Mason his name, Dream wonders as he scurries back to his bed. The guard sighs and sets the container down. "Hope he wasn't causing trouble," he says quietly, "Poor kid. Anyway, don't leave it open for too long or it will vanish, but there's your water."