Dawnlark Plains Sabat

Etienne said some words Masque didn’t know: “concussion,” “dilate.” They shifted uncomfortably, trying to suss out their meaning through his behavior and other contextual clues. But then he pressed them with more questions.

Give way? they echoed, slightly horrified at the mere thought before quickly adding, No, nothing like that. But I did lose consciousness. I don’t know how long I was out for… maybe a few minutes.

Their bright eyes skittered over his face, wondering what he saw in them. Were they dilating the way they should? Masquerade would have no way of knowing, even if they knew what that term meant. And what about a concussion?

I assume you must be a Haelend—a healer, they remarked while they awaited a prognosis.