THE PRICE OF ANYTHING
IS THE AMOUNT OF LIFE YOU EXCHANGE FOR IT
IS THE AMOUNT OF LIFE YOU EXCHANGE FOR IT
There is a large difference between reading about illness in books and experiencing it firsthand. Pravda does not have an organic interest in medicine; instead, he has always felt it is is something he should know about versus something he wants to know about.
Didn’t eat—grass…it looked so… soft… The boy’s words are hardly eligible. Pravda clears his throat and finds himself pacing almost hurriedly alongside where Pan has collapsed—and yet, the movement is worthless, and more a nervous tic then anything productive. “Soft?” Pravda repeats. He is thinking of the botany book he read most recently—Novus plants… those that are toxic, and poisonous….
The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but he feels as if time is of the essence. Is… is that a dinosaur? the boy asks, and then laughs.
“Yes,” Pravda answers, glancing at Prigovora. The raptor is salivating long strands as he gazes at the boy and his companion, but Pravda mentally chastises him. Then, the boy is overtaken by a sudden spasm. “Oh—oh no. There’s no way you can stand, is there?” Pravda asks. They are not that far from the Court, and medical attention, but—
“Prigovora,” Pravda says aloud. “I need you to run to the hospital, as quickly as possible, and get help..”
The raptor, although unenthusiastic, turns away with a reptilian hiss and slips through the grasses with rapid speed.
“Try to focus on breathing,” Pravda instructs. “The grass—it was soft. As in, it had soft tips?”
"Speech." || @Pan
