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It was an understatement to say that he knew his way to the field hospital the Resistance kept- he'd carried supplies there, carried other people there for treatment, visited patients, harassed Hvergelmir with courtly gifts there, drug himself there to be a patient, and occasionally had to drag someone out of it to a impromptu campfire 'waiting room' in tense times so that they didn't botch a surgery.

This visit was much simpler.

Herger paused at one of the younger orderlies, someone just handling some quick charting and bedpan duty, "Is Ida still working? Has she rested?"

She had been on shift since before he'd started his own for the Guard. He didn't really need to ask, knowing the answers - "Yes. No."

The orderly pointed helpfully to the wash stand at the back, which meant the Princess must have been in surgery very recently to still be getting the gore off in the wash trough. He followed the direction, not shy of checking on her now that he was sure he wouldn't be interrupting something In Progress. "Hallo, Ida?"

It was accompanied with a knuckle rap on the frame.

So much slouch- she is very tired. It is good to catch her before she starts acting again. Mostly because he knew he'd otherwise suspect nothing and mostly bought everyone's acts of 'being alright'. In a way, it was lying by omission, which hurt his heart that they felt they couldn't be genuine with a friend. Or that others shouldn't be allowed to worry and support them as they did for others. It was too common a problem in the camp- letting personal wounds fester while hiding them because of not wanting to be 'a problem'.

It made no sense to Herger.

But it meant he didn't feel an ounce of bad in playing his own lighter jest about much the same subject, his expression painted slowly grave and he nodded, "It's very important, Lady. Could I have your help?"

He half turned, as though to lead her to the source of the trouble which lay out of the washroom, probably out of the med-rooms. But it is not someone who is in too much danger to be moved. Maybe she will punch my arm for this. That would be pleasant.

"Not far, just outside the front of the entrance. You don't need a kit. I can bring in after you decide."
Bring in what he didn't say. Decide what, he didn't offer clue of. Herger put a gentle hand to the small of her back, ushering her a little along towards the outside. It seemed all the more right that it was called the ‘small’ of someone’s back- it was such a small place on everyone that he was friends with- knights, senshi and tiny mauvians all.

The break through the barrier into the Outside was one into light. The dawn had come and was settling in brilliant golds and pale blues on the tops of the tents and lean-tos of the camp, the canopy of the trees, and the scent of cooking in the commons was starting to waft sweet of pancake flour and eggs. There were no wounded outside the medical tent, just the trodden dirt of too many feet in a path lined with grass on either side.

Herger motioned towards some Chicory flowers and Queen Anne’s Lace that were also greeting the summer sun at the edges of the Princess’ hospital. His voice came much less serious, nearly a whisper and gentle, “I wanted to know what the names of those flowers were. “

At her look, Herger smiled- broad and bright. It was the smile of a pleased friend with a piece of mischief well managed. "Actually, yes. I brought you out here to show you flowers."

He accepted the offerings, honestly trying to file away the names in his head, even if he wasn't certain he could phonetically spell them were he ever asked to do so. They were much smaller in his grasp than hers. He looked at the flowers while giving more of an explanation, since it seemed she might want it with her arms so closed off and adversarial. He hated closed arms in such moments. He could bear his open, if it meant a chance of hers being likewise. Even if he wasn't quite comfortable with looking at someones face with the admission, "I can look at the flowers, the trees, the places on the maps of this country. I can visit my wonder. But none of it means much. I don't remember their names, even if I love them. Maybe the other me never knew flower names. Most of what I remember....it is the Negaverse, thoughts about them I had in Norsk or Svenska, battles and maneuvers, orders in English. "

"You're someone who knows these things. Your power is a flower. You ...like things that are common like nature that everyone sees and no one thinks about anymore. Maybe you don't anymore, either. "

"I do. Even if it all ends. For the Knights of Earth it will. I'd like to be able to call a few of them by name, and think which one I liked best when I'm watering them." The words left unsaid - with my blood. Herger offered the bright purple chicory stem back, "It looks better on you. Since you are out here anyway, can I take you to breakfast? It smells like pancakes this morning. Nobody can say no to pancakes?"

It was strange to hear the other name, the same that people in Norway and Sweden used at first in letters, some up in conversation...especially as a positive. The time spent with the Negaverse was almost never a good thing. It meant a count of lives taken that could have been standing by them now, a degree of responsibility for helping the engine consume so much of the city and world at large. Björn's hands felt larger than his own, for their twenty some years in the world, compared to his own two. But here was Ida, talking with him and her smaller hands doing so much for so many. Too much and shivering with no blood sugar.

Little hands that didn't mind his so much, and were willing to open up at last and talk about oaths, and simpler things like flowers and pancakes. "I would like that sometime. When you are ready to relax. "

"You'll need to eat slowly, or your stomach will cramp. Would you like to eat outside on one of the benches? " The wonderful volunteers that handled the cooking and plating were just setting up the first spreads of silver-dollar pancakes with a few dishes of 'topping' - homemade blackcap preserves the children of the camp were sent to gather, fake syrup packets and margarine tubs from HuntFishCamp stores, small packets of white sugar that were afforded to use in coffee or for extra calories on the pancakes. He kept back a bit, letting her to the table first and keeping an eye on what things she chose for her plate. Information like food preferences could come in handy when just putting a plate in front of someone else and telling them they needed to take 5 minutes and eat.

Herger's own plate was a set of 3 silver dollars and a spoonful of the blackcap preserve. In free hand he balance a mug of oswego and lemon balm someone had brewed as tea. It would probably taste herbal, but most of the forest scavenge tasted that way. At least it was bracing.

Waiting was easy, patient work as she juggled and prepared her plate. The question was answered and a note of desire for silence made, so Herger just turned and made and inviting look, indicating with body language that she could follow- then headed out of the Commons tents were others were starting to stumble in with the scent of breakfast as siren song to their noses.

It wasn't a long walk at all to a small campfire spot near the Guard barracks tents. It was kept with cut-stump benches in a half circle, convenient for conversant sitting at want or need, or companionable silence on rare breaks when everyone was too knackered to socialize but not wanting to be alone.

Herger motioned with his cup bearing hand the best of the benches for is she wanted to make use of. He sat lower, on the ground in front of one of the others to make use of it as a backrest. Butter, syrup. Milk?

That was simple enough to try to remember. He patiently waited again for her to sit and dig in, looking up at the colours on the streaky-clouds like feathers.

He'd looked over one he heard the sound of cutlery on plate, noting casually once she'd finished a pancake before starting to sip on his hot tea- he drank a lot of hot whatever liquid that was on offer whenever he could. In truth, a Stanley camp thermos had become his prize possession. It kept drinks hot for a bit under 24 hours, which had become godsend on duty. Being on the Guard meant not always having a lot of time to eat, or having to 'pack a lunch' for duty on the run.

He'd found out a long while before that heated liquid helped stave off hunger pangs or food cravings. It helped in feeling full instead of just ill. Eating slowly helped as well. Once he'd managed about a fourth of his drink he finally started with slow, single bites of his first pancake. He always took at least a full fifteen minutes, or longer, in eating even when he was tired. Taking less meant not getting to sleep from feeling famished.

"Just done with it. It was a pretty quiet shift, mostly Youma herding and ashing."

" I don't think I keep regular shift. I take everything I can, whenever there is opening and I'm not needed for something else. Sometimes that is daytime, sometimes it is nighttime. The fjord's magic is helpful for drawing enemies away from sensitive areas to chase me, " He shrugged, sipping more tea. "I do not have a family, so its good to leave the regular shifts to those who do. It lets them have a schedule."

"I can sleep like a log anytime. Whatever time the day is. I'm always a little sleepy. Lots of people have trouble sleeping anymore- there is a lot of stress, but it is the schedule too. Too much back and forth, and their body gets confused."

Maybe you would sleep easy if you had a more regular schedule.

Herger looked over when prompted, looking at the plate first. Then Orah. Then the Pancake. Then he got up to his knees, putting his own plate aside a moment, and knee walked around behind her. For emphasis, he formed a ring 'round her waist with his hands. His fingers were depressingly too close to touching. "You know...you should have at least 300 calories at a meal, and even then you're starving. Each pancake is like...a hundred calories. You took three. You should eat it, even if you are full."

If nothing else, Herger still read magazines when he could get them. The supermarket kind always had plenty of suggested weight loss meal plans to boggle over.

He sat down on his heels in the kneel behind her, resting jaw on her shoulder before shifting hands from accentuating her non-weight to wrapping full arms around her middle and making a backrest of himself. "There is not so much of you left, Ida. Don't leave us like that."