“Hey, hi,” Robyn called, as she let herself into Libra’s tent without any other warning. In her arms laid a completely unconscious Henry, limp arm swinging as she walked. Normally she’d be apprehensive about having to re-introduce herself, but at this point she wasn’t even worried about surprising him by being a “female Robin” or whatever. This was because Henry was freaking her out rather badly.
At some point during their jog over to the closest healer (Libra… the healer’s tent was clear on the other side of the camp), the wizard’s eyes had cracked open even though he was still unresponsive… and that was creepy. At least in her tenure as the camp’s tactician she’d learned that hitting him on the head again wouldn’t fix it.
“He took a book to the face.” she explained, putting Henry in Libra’s bed without so much as asking. He was limp as a ragdoll, still wrapped in her jacket, head back and eyes open a sliver. Robyn looked… sheepish.
“Sorry for barging in.” She finally apologised, if a bit standoffishly. “I think he’s maybe… dying or something.”
Libra was one of the best, if not THE best healer in her version of the Shepherds, if anyone was going to fix what she’d broke, it was him.