"Catria brought you back here." Mark explained to the barely alive, but now conscious Cordelia. "You weren't breathing until Maribelle got a chance to work you over with her staff." The knight gingerly rose in the cot, legs dangling off the makeshift bed. Her armor was removed, with cloth wrapped around her chest and neck, clothes stained with blood. "Don't worry, I wasn't the one who stripped your armor off or dress your wounds." Cordelia tried to speak, but she began coughing violently as she tried to make a sound. This brought her back to rest across the cot.
During the fight to get off the Carrion Isle, a Risen mage had gotten a perfect shot at Cordelia. In an instant the redhead was enveloped in a slicing wind, which slashed at her throat and pierced her armor, digging towards her lungs. Her breathing still came labored, but it was better than not being able to draw breath at all. "You need to be more careful. A little deeper and the wind could've killed you." Mark rose and walked toward a nearby end table and poured the contents of a yellow bottle into a nearby glass.
"Here." He walked towards Cordelia and helped prop her up in the cot. Gingerly, he raised the glass to her lips and let her drink. The vulnerary helped the pain that was still present in her throat and chest, and the breathing came easier to her. She laid back again, sighing from the warmth now in her sternum.
"Thank you." She managed to whisper with a weak smile.
"Come on, it's me. Am I going to let the lynch pin to so many of my plans die because some pile of mangled flesh got a good shot on her? It'd be like losing a favorite flask." She still had enough strength to lightly hit the tactician in the shoulder, and he grinned at her. If she was strong enough to take a swing at him, she'd be alight. He rose, gave her one last smile, and walked out of the medical tent.
Mark strode down the street of the makeshift tent town the Shepards now formed. This was a beacon of good news that shone in a swarm of ill fortune. He reached the end of the tent town and pulled his pipe from the folds of his robes. As he packed his pipe, he began pondering over the incident with Valider earlier yesterday, and the fight after. Lighting the pipe with but a flick of his wrist, producing the flame from his index finger. Drawing in the smoke, he thought over Validar's claims, not knowing how much stock to put into them. His mind though, wandered more than once to his friend sitting in the medical tent now and then.
Meanwhile, Cordelia lay awake in her cot, gently feeling her throat and wincing from the pain it emanated. She had made a mistake of not analyzing the entire battlefield and had paid for it. The price was to sit here in this tent and stew in her failure. Feeling strength come back to her arm, she reached out to where the vulnerary in a glass sat next to her on the ground and managed to grab it. Raising it with great effort, she managed to take more of the medicine down as she slowly slid up from her rest. Feeling slightly less pain once again, she would soon drift off to a dreamless sleep, but the last conscious thoughts she would have lingered on Mark's kindness.