"Please, can I rest?"
Ollie's simple, feeble question pierced Cynwrig's heart like an arrow, and for a moment, his eyes drifted from the young knight to his wife's unconscious figure. Cerys was slowly starting to recover her color as she lay next to the fire, and her face still held the tension of intense pain from the broken bone and twisted ankle that Sir Ollie hadn't been able to heal, but she was alive… and she would recover in time so long as she received good care from here on out.
"Yes," Cynwrig said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder and guiding Dalwyn to accompany him as he moved to kneel beside Ollie so the young witch could hear him clearly. "Yes, Sir Ollie. My wife will live because of you. You saved her life, saved our family. I owe you a debt that I don't know how I'll ever repay. But you did it."
