"My son, how are you doing?" The Wise Old Elf sits on the bed where his son lays. His left ankle in a cast, his head wrapped.
"I'm okay father. Where's Barnaby?"
"Barnaby is with Ben. He doesn't have a scratch on him." Mr. Elf stands by the closet, refusing to pick his head up.
"And Nettle?"
"Still with Redbeard, they don't come back for another week."
"Really?"
"Yes, they sent a letter yesterday. Remember?"
"Anyways, my son, do you need anything?"
"I just want to get to work. I have to help with the elf farm and elf rescue."
"Unfortunately, you can't my son. You need to get better."
"Can't the fairies heal him? They use their magic in the stupidest reasons, I'm sure they must have a spell to cure him."
"Unfortunately, they said they can't use it because it takes too much magical energy -"
"Bullshit at it's finest."
"Mr. Elf -"
"Bullshit! They use magic whenever and however they want. But they can't use it to heal an elf! They are just manipulative lying pieces of shit!"
"Mr. Elf, please calm down. This isn't a logical -"
"Fred, you could have been killed. Ms. Peach is unconscious and Ms. Apple's child has a broken arm along with countless other elves with serious injuries. Food delieveries will slow down along with factory work! We will be behind for months and many may go hungry!"
"I know Mr. Elf, but we can't do anything about it for the moment. We need to make sure everyone is okay then we have to come up with a place to live. "
"I can do that."
"Mr. Elf -"
Mr. Elf leaves.