Neverwinter Forest that which takes in turns, gives in spades

He dismissed her words with a shake of his head, his voice gentle. "More helpful than I could ever be, I assure you," Phocion murmured, grinning, though the smile faded as he contemplated the extent of Cortland's injury. "It is just a cut, though it's starting to look a little infected. I don't know plants as well as I should."

As to her apology, he gave a small sigh, thinking of what little details of the event she'd told him, or he'd gleaned from other people. It had rattled all involved, and no wonder Poet had felt so conflicted. He didn't know what it could possibly mean, only that it was a power greater than themselves, and not one of good but of malice.

"It's fine, Poet. You needed to leave." Phocion peered intently at her, eyes traveling over her body. She looked fit enough, and smelled faintly of the sea; had she gone to find her friend? "Are you all right, now that you're out of that place? Did you go to find Sif?"