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Father Borath had not been pleased to learn that Zekiel had been found by the morning cleaning crew asleep, ‘partially disrobed’, and in bed with his foreign charge, the boy’s former bedding stained with blood and other unmentionable fluids. Nevermind that Zekiel had been almost fully dressed, sans the coat he had taken off to use as a makeshift rag upon encountering Ottolo in his state—the aftermath of ‘Myuto’s’ work. Zekiel had known then that Ottolo would need to be removed from the room, and the train of reprimands had done nothing to change that fixation.

He would get Ottolo out, to a room above ground, with sunlight.

And, as he had also offered to Ottolo at the time, he would attempt to get him a wheeling chair. He knew of their existence, and had seen such things in Tacrith’s healing halls in the times he’d visited prior, but the opportunity had not been upon them yet then, with Otto in the state he had been. Now, however—now, Ottolo was healing, and more than ever, he needed a break from the four walls which had held him bound since he’d been taken into the custody of the Sanctum’s outer grounds.

So used to him by now, when he made his way into the facility of Tacrith’s work, the attendant at the desk piped up immediately, telling him the hall and room Tacrith was in, and saying he might go on directly ahead if he pleased, or he could be fetched. Zekiel was more than happy to make the walk himself, and glanced about the now-increasingly-familiar walls of the medical house’s interior before making it to the room he’d been directed to. Though the door was partially open, he stopped just outside, tapping his knuckles to the door frame to announce himself before speaking.

“Tacrith? Might it please you to speak with me a moment when you have one free to give?”

Sleep had come easy to the broken windling once he found himself safe and cared for. The threat was gone, the pain dulled, and his body urged him to rest and recover from his ordeal. And rest he did. Hours upon hours would go by in an instant, and he never stirred. The door to his room opened and closed and opened and closed many times while he slept, but nothing could wake him then. Perhaps it was for the best... After all, were he to find himself alone in the dark, the storms that plagued him would return ten fold.

A small blessing did come upon him as he finally did open his eyes, blinking away the darkness and sleep from within. A kind soul, one unknown to him, had brought more candles to his room, filling nearly ever empty space on his small table with small shining beacons of light. Even in his foggy state of mind, it was clear that his guardian had left, though that was to be expected. To even consider that he would until he had awakened seemed unfair and cruel. Ottolo knew he was not the only person in his Acolyte's life, nor was he his, or anyone's first priority. The quickly darkening thoughts were pushed aside to focus on the candles and the pitcher of fresh water resting for him. He knew he would not be alone for long; the pain and aching in his stomach suggested far too much time had passed since he woke.

With a soft, nearly inaudible groan, Ottolo forced himself to sit up against the wall, pouring himself a full glass of water and downing it in the next instant before simply holding the empty container in his hands. For now he would be alright alone... The dawn was surely on it's way.

Tacrith blinked a moment before smirking and shaking his head. As if he would want to move to the Sanctum... Brow rising as Ottolo was mentioned, He started thinking about the chairs mentioned. Of course, mention of Ottolo's health caught his attention, eyes lifting to meet Zekiel's sharply. After a moment, he closed his eyes and let out a sharp exhale. The truth was out, and Ottolo was free of the torment. Good.

Letting his eyes open again, he nodded and pointed out the door. "Certainly. Not too many patients use them here. The papers will be here when I return. This way." He headed down the hall to fetch one of the requested seats, spoke to another doctor to excuse himself, and headed out. The chair was a cumbersome thing, and Ze would end up having to push the chair the majority of the time.

Immediately upon seeing how much trouble moving the chair caused Tacrith, who already had his own leg to deal with, Zekiel took over the task without a qualm, more than pleased that the other had agreed to it in the first place, and eagerly anticipating getting it to Ottolo. It had been more than long enough since his charge had seen proper daylight, and he knew it would be welcomed. Above and beyond that, he looked forward to seeing Ottolo conscious in general.

After his ordeal, the boy had slept—and slept, and slept. All through the morning and day following the night of Myuto’s final assault on him, and into the next night.

Zekiel had been busy himself, of course, being reprimanded for the position he had been ‘caught’ in come that morning and explaining the full depth of circumstances to Father Borath and Sister Mortrem as well as others, and eventually, when he had at last gotten the chance, making his requests: for the wheeling chair, and for a new room. Though both had inspired their fair share of reluctance to oblige on the part of his elders, it had eventually been conceded that if he made the trip and the request and received permission from one of Pajore’s doctors, then he could bring a wheeling chair himself if he saw fit and the church would fund its cost.

As to the room, Sister Mortrem had promised to make arrangements herself, on the grounds that Zekiel be patient and wait the time it took. He had, of course, agreed. When he and Tacrith finally made it down the stairwell in the building where Ottolo was kept and to his room door, Zekiel unbolted it, and pushed it open, peeking in first and throwing his friend a beaming smile of greeting.

“Ottolo! I have brought company, and a gift from the medicinal halls of Pajore, will you have them? I am sorry if I have kept you waiting—the gift took its time in being transported over the rocky streets, but it arrives whole! And I do hope it is still functional…”

It certainly looked it.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be a problem.

When the door finally opened, Ottolo's heart began to race, even if just a little. He had returned, his priest, just as promised, and the tension and tears both ebbed away gently. He had wanted to greet him properly, to have Zekiel lay with for a while and speak sweetly with him until he could not bear the hunger pains any longer, but words were rushed and before he realized it, there were three in the room, as well as some sort of chair with wheels.

The other man was familiar, and Ottolo remembered his kindness. There were no anxious looks from him this time, only a small smile and slow nod in his direction. His throat was still aching and tight feeling from the crushing force that had been applied to it, so he beckoned them ever closer, so that they would hear his soft words.

"It is a welcomed gift, thank you... It is good to see you again, sir. I appreciate your time." As the chair was presented to him, he grew ever more excited, looking over at it and feeling the urge to ask many many questions on how it functioned... Yet he could not. "I am still in the darkness, under the soil where there is no sun, no light... Where would I move to?"

The halls beyond his doors seemed so dark, he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave it at this time..., Not when there was so much light here now.

Tac watched Ottolo a moment before giving a small nod. Not only was the man physically healing, but even the mental injuries seemed to be getting better. That was good to see. He let himself rest, watching the cogs turn in Zekiel's head. "My apologies, Zekiel. I knew it would be a challenge, but I did not think about how much you would have to actually do. If you can carry Ottolo up the stairs, I can get the chair up there." He looked over to Ottolo. "Trying it down here first would be best though. This way, we can adjust it as needed, and the bed will be right there if that tires you out."

Zekiel blinked, surprised. Had he truly not been fed at all? But then, he had been told that the other boy had slept the day away following his experience, so perhaps it wasn’t so strange to imagine. Still, that was far too long without a meal.

“All of a day,” he said. “But if we’re to be moving all about and you are in want of food now, we oughtn’t begin to tire you until you’ve eaten. I’ll fetch some!”

Zekiel didn’t know as he took off to do as he said whether or not Tacrith had eaten either, but it seemed to him that regardless, the best course of action would be to bring enough for all of them. Tacrith had walked a good ways, Ottolo had not fed since the night before last, and Zekiel himself, the nearer he got to the kitchen, realized his own hunger with increasing persistence. When he returned, it would be with three bowls of seasoned rice, bread, and a small platter of sliced cheese squares. One of the kitchen attendants insisted on aiding in the carrying until they reached the building Ottolo was kept, but scurried off after that point, leaving the last leg to Zekiel for fear of whatever curses the ‘rumored’ foreigner carried with him despite Zekiel’s cheery reassurances that he was indeed harmless and free of bad spirits.

"No you don't have to--- oh, okay..." Ottolo had tried to stop Zekiel from running off too quickly, but just as a little bird does, he flitted away. Rather than looking upset this time, he just gave a small, lopsided smile then looked up at Tac.

"No, not raised underground at all. There were mountains all around and bright colors. So I do look forward to it. After all that's happened I am still in shocked that this will be a real thing. Would you believe that I do not know what the land above looks like? After the fall, I opened my eyes in this room, and that's all I've known since." Months had passed since his arrival and the only hints to the outside would above he received were the pretty flowers that Zekiel would bring every now and then.

"I am both... Eager and afraid to finally see it." Absently his hand came up to gently rub against his throat, feeling it become raw again from talking with out drink. "Do you, Sir Tac, walk in the light often? Is the sky still blue, and the grass still the color as sand?"