I sense it, the moment she breaks.

I don't think I've ever moved this fast, especially not in daylight, but I'm at her side in an instant, pulling her back from the precipice she's falling towards. She collapses but I catch her against my torso as Brand swears. I'm not sure if he's swearing from her condition, or the fact I just seemed to appear, but I don't give myself the time to worry about the civilian's shocked cry.

She's breathing, thank Shor. Her life force still flows, though I can see it's diminished, weakened; like when the draugr got her Bleak Falls, she's clinging on through sheer force of will.

Brand is stammering something but I ignore him, sweeping Brighid's legs up and starting back for the clearing.

"Hilde!"

The healer is at one of the looms and turns at my shout, sees us, rushes over and presses a hand to Brighid's forehead.

"Get her inside," she says hurriedly, moving ahead of us and heading for her small hut. I can feel my hackles raise at all the eyes staring at us, the soft murmur of shock as some people stand, but force my awareness away from them.

Of all the stupid, reckless...

Hilde clears the table as I follow her in, laying Brighid on the wooden surface. Hilde is grabbing a handful of small vials, almost like health shots but coloured blue instead of red.

"She was trying to build a bridge from the landslide debris," Brand tells us, moving across to the counter and grabbing a small bowl of dark grains. "I was watching to make sure she didn't overdo it, but there was no sign, no symptoms—"

"There usually isn't, you just got lucky when it happened the other day," Hilde says, grabbing a few stalks of mountain flowers and shoving them at me. "Strip one leaf of each, remember which one belongs to which stem. It's a blessing she passed out; I've seen people shrivel their entire bodies when they've done it."

"Shrivel?" I ask.

"Like a prune," Hilde replies, curling an arm under Brighid's head and tipping one of the vials into her mouth. "She's lucky, but we still need to get some magicka back into her, and see what's actually draining her, make sure there isn't any lasting injury or illness."

"What happens if there is?" I ask. Hilde does the familiar pinch-swallow trick as she tips the second vial into Brighid's mouth.

"Then we have more to worry about," Hilde replies, repeating the process with the third vial. "Never thought I'd have to worry about magicka drain out here, but I guess serves me right for guessing wrong."

Brighid stirs as she's laid back on the table, making a soft noise. I hand the leaves over to Hilde, setting the stems aside before taking Brighid's hand as I brush some hair back from her face. Skin-deep, she looks almost serene, but I can see the way her energy is roiling, the same turmoil that she had even back in the camp – a turmoil that I haven't seen her bear since... since Helgen.

Please, Brighid. Be okay.

Hilde takes her other hand, pricking her finger with a pin. She squeezes out three drops of blood, each one going onto one of the three leaves I handed over. The first one, from the blue flower, settles in the stem; the second one settles in the stem and along a couple of the larger leaf-veins. The third, however, spreads quickly, the single drop filling in every vein and crevice and crease of the leaf. Hilde sees this and swears softly.

"What's wrong?" Brand asks. She takes the leaf and holds it up.

"This was from the purple, right?" Hilde asks me. I nod, feeling my hand tighten around Brighid's. She shows it to Brand, whose eyes widen. "I haven't seen anything like this since Salla."

"What does it mean?" I ask. My mouth has gone dry, and I feel the blood-pact tugging within my chest.

"There's... well..." Hilde shifts uncomfortably. "She's under a lot of emotional turmoil and stress. Maybe even of the mind, too. Physically, she's fine, but her mind... I've only seen this much damage once before. It's slowing her magicka recovery, and likely to slow her general health recovery."

As she speaks, Hilde drops the leaves in the bowl Brand gave her and turns to the fire, taking a small rod from it. The tip of the rod is aflame, and she dips it into the bowl, lighting the leaves. They flare for a moment, before the fire dies out as she swirls the salts around the bowl. She does this with less urgency, though, and I can sense the ease Brand has drawn about himself once again. Neither of them seem as worried, which means Brighid must be safe. I force myself to relax as well, looking down at her. She's not in life-threatening danger, but the restlessness still swirls through her energy. Emotional strain, according to Hilde.

"But she will be okay?" I ask, needing it to be confirmed again. Hilde nods.

"Rest is the best thing for her right now. A few days without magic and she should be well again."

Brighid without magic is an odd concept, but our first meeting didn't exactly feature any of her magical talents. Even so, I know what it means to her. Without magic, even for a couple of days, she's going to feel vulnerable, weak, exposed.

"I'll go get something to eat, for when she wakes up," Hilde says, moving around the table and leaving. Brand moves to Brighid's other side, taking a petal from the blue mountain flower and pressing it to the pinprick Hilde made. I look down at Brighid again, studying that restless, churning energy.

"You care for her."

It isn't a question, because he doesn't need the answer. I close my eyes, letting myself go still as I sense energies all around. Beyond the walls of this building, moving through the village. Most roiling with the uncertainty of the current situation, some turning in on themselves with anger, hatred, guilt, shame.

"Is it so obvious?"

"Only to those who know how it feels," Brand says. His voice is gentle and I look up. He's looking at Brighid, but not seeing her; that restlessness he carries himself, it ripples through his own spirit. "Does she know?" He asks, looking up again, meeting my gaze. I shake my head once, choosing to look away – this is straying into more personal territory, and though we share a pact, there's some things I'd rather keep private.

"She has far better prospects," I tell him. Or maybe I'm telling myself. "She's the Dragonborn, Potema's downfall, the Storm-rider. Thane of Falkreath, Haafingar, and The Reach, Atmoran wanderer," I scoff, shaking my head again. "She could have anyone she wants. I'm just a soldier in the Legion."

"I thought the same of my love," Brand says softly. "And I told her too late. By the time I worked up the courage, she was with someone else. I never had another chance."

He hesitates for a few moments, before nodding to the purple flowers I set aside. "D'you know what kind of turmoil Hilde meant?"

"I'm not an alchemist, Brand," I tell him.

"She's been mishandled," he says. I look up at him sharply, feeling my blood run cold. Mishandled... "Badly so."

"How badly?" I ask. I know this is something she'd rather tell me herself, if at all, but there's always the chance she won't want to talk about it. Mishandled women almost never do want to discuss it, not if its recent.

"Salla, Freia's mother," he says carefully, nodding slowly. "She was mishandled by her husband. I dealt with him, of course, and supported her through the pregnancy that resulted, but... she didn't make it. Freia's not mine, but I couldn't abandon her."

"Do you think Brighid—?"

"No, the leaf from the blue would have shown it," Brand tells me. I sigh with relief, but it's only a small relief. Mishandled is such a gentle way of describing it, but I've seen how such a story often ends. The world is not kind to women who have been mistreated in that way.

When I find the one who did it, he's going to be drowning in his own blood for a week.

Brand starts to move past, but pauses at my side, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Tell her. I think you'll be surprised with how it goes."

I don't look at him as his hand drops away. A moment later, I hear the door open, close, and I'm alone.