"He's not well Dustfinger," Dustfinger's eyes swelled with tears. He brushed them away in a sweep of fury.
"Show him to me! I need to help him. He-He's." His thin face contorted into a look of sorrow. Meggie looked toward Mo. He nodded and beckoned toward the dilapidated hut where Farid's limp body lay. She slowly stepped toward the hut. Dustfinger entered, throwing open the door hurriedly. His heart pounded in his chest as he pulled back the white linen sheet.
Beneath the sheet, the sickly boy's chest rose and fell, as if in perfect rhythm with the heavy rapping on Dustfinger's chest. Dustfinger closed his eyes and held his hands over the frail form.
"What's happened? Where am I?" Farid's eyes flicked around the room, pausing at Meggie and halting at Dustfinger. He blinked as if trying to shake away what he thought was an apparition.
"You were attacked. The white witches were knocking on your door. We were afraid it was too late," Silvertongue paused.
"But then I showed up. I don't know why but I can heal people," Dustfinger opened his fist to show a small but deep gash that crossed his palm diagonally, "Nothing comes for free." He reached out his long, slender arms and wrapped them around Farid.
"So what's happened to you Dustfinger my friend," Farid smiled brightly at his fire-breathing friend.
"It's a rather long story and I'm ready to tell it," Dustfinger's face lit up with a smile.