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"You poor thing. Let me have a look," Eran says as he reaches out to take a look at the boy's injuries. He doesn't attempt to force his help upon the other though, but he does have an aura of good about him. The wings on the other hand, might have opposite effect even as they're tugged back.

Fortunately, the injuries seem to be roughly in alignment with what would be expected from a schoolyard fight or bar brawl, rather than an attempt to maim or kill the kid. He's got a shiner, a split lip, some grass stains and tears in his clothing, and possibly a bump on the head.

He doesn't see many people with wings, so the stranger is getting a startled look, but he's not flinching away and will let himself be touched. "Uhm. Ain't that big a deal, sir. Just a fistfight. But thank you?"

"At least they doesn't appear too dire," Eran responds placing his hand upon the kid. As he place his hand on the child, an warmth flows out of the palm of his hand, flowing down across the boy's entire body. As it reaches the wounds they stop aching and closes up, healing themselves. It takes merely seconds before Cricket's injuries has healed.

"Feeling better?" he then asked as he removes his hand from Cricket's shoulder, taking a step back to allow the other to regain his footing. Being healed magically like that could certain shake someone inexperienced. Particularly in these lands were the clergy doesn't appear to have much in way of divine power.

Cricket couldn't look more confused if he tried, but despite the strangeness, the healing touch feels safe. The bones in his legs, crooked from childhood rickets, will not respond to healing like this, but the occasional ache in his muscles that walking on them causes seems to subside along with the healing injuries. He sways back, a little unsteady on his feet, but doesn't fall.

There's a moment's pause, and then he pinches himself and discovers he is not, in fact, dreaming. Welp. This is a thing that is happening, then!

"...yessir. Much better. Are you an angel or somethin'?"

Eran's quite pleased enough with being able to help the recent injuries at least. He nods back at the boy, noticing that he's somewhat unsteady on his feet. The bones may be fixed by a cleric of significant rank., but it's not a thing he can archive, possibly never. Magic, even if divine has its limits and cost. But he's happy to help in any way he can.

"Not quite. I'm a Paladin of Iomedae, a Holy Knight. One of my ancestors however may have been an angel. Hence the wings," he replies, shrugging said wings. It's an impressive wingspan, looking quite capable of carrying him.

Edited 2019-10-17 17:06 (UTC)

Possibly the bones would have to be rebroken to be encouraged to grow straight. At this point, Cricket thinks of his unsteady walk as a part of him, though, and might even refuse to have them fixed. The lack of pain is very nice, though. That's a gift he can appreciate with no regret.

"A paladin," he repeats. It's a word he knows, but not one that gets used around him often. "A'ight. I'm just kind of a mechanic."

He offers a handshake. "My name's Cricket, sir. Feel like I ought to make you coffee or somethin' to thank you."

"I'm Brother Eran of Whitefield," he says and gives the boy a firm handshake in return. His clothing is simple, yet decorated in a way that reveals his position as Holy Knight. Reminding one of clergy but reinforced with light steel, uncommon among priests. "Do not feel as if you must give something in return. Taking care of the injured and sick is something I do freely," he insist. "Alas, coffee does sound nice."

Okay, so 'Brother' makes him think more of a monk or a priest than a knight--which is how he interprets the word paladin--and for some reason that makes him feel more awkward than he would if Eran was an actual angel. Perhaps because he's had more experiences with clergy than with angels.

Still, though, coffee is no trouble and he's grateful for the help. He smiles Eran sheepishly. "Well, I ain't no kind of cook, but I reckon I can make coffee and pancakes, if you're hungry at all. Y'wanna come with me? My place is just around the hollow."

He may be a paladin but a noble he's not. He was trained by clergy and look upon his fellow paladins as brothers, hence the use of that title. He nods his head following the boy's suggestion. It certainly sounds like a good idea and he must admit he's a bit hungry.

"Certainly. Show me the way," he said and gestures to Cricket to lead the way.

Cricket nods, turning and beckoning, making a way down a narrow dirt path threaded with roots and dotted with small rocks. His steps are careful, slow with a slight hitch in his tread. Every now and again one of his leg braces makes a small clanking noise.

"My Aunt Winnie'll be there," he says. "Don't mind her none. She's not all there..." He gestures at his head meaningfully. "But she don't mean no harm. Might even be asleep, this time of day."

"Where're you comin' from, if you don't mind me asking?"

Eran follows along, keeping his eyes on the boy in case he trip and falls. Of course he need not worry, the path seeming to be quite familiar for Cricket. He hums lowly as he considers the question.

"That must be awful for you to have to deal with such responsibility," he muses, buying himself some time. How'd he explain that he's not actually from this planet? "I'm from Dermont, a small kingdom across the sea.It was ruled until recently by Nicolas Xain III."

Cricket glances over his shoulder at that observation, surprised, then gives his new friend a shy smile. "It's a lot sometimes," he admits. "But she raised me after my mama died, so I'm just givin' back."

It's really nice for someone to recognize it's a responsibility he's shouldered, though. The Bondurants do their best by him, but it's the way of Appalachia to stand on your own feet and protect yourself and your blood. They wouldn't offer help unless he asked, and he wouldn't ask unless he were truly desperate. "Besides, she's the only family I got in Franklin. Got some cousins in the east a ways, but I don't hear from 'em except at Christmas."

Eran is lucky in who he's stumbled across, maybe. Cricket is pretty well educated for the area, but Europe is distant enough that he's not about to question someone who says he's from across the sea. Probably some little country in the mainland, somewhere between France and Russia. He's heard there are a lot of those. "Is it business that brings you here, sir? Might be able to help with directions, if you want."

Eran nods back in silence. He feel with the boy. He isn't the first and he won't be the last to suffer through such a thing. Or be forced to bear responsibility on too young shoulders. Despise it all the boy seems well-adjusted. Even with the bad legs.

"My father was a smith and my mother a healer. But besides them I had little family. My father had siblings but they died young and my mother was an orphan," he admits. He was grateful for what he had. But he doubted it gave the boy much comfort.

Cricket wasn't the first one he had stumbled across. Few were as understanding. Many believe him to be an angel. With in of itself did give him some pause. It wasn't a lie but it wasn't the truth either. In some cases keeping the truth hidden was better. He wasn't about to lie to anyone.

"Ah yes, you could say that. I'm looking for someone whom did a most heinous crime in my country and whom fled over here," he continued. It was an Elven lie, as they'd say back home. Just revealing enough to be the truth, but hiding the whole picture as to not lie.