Eragos watched the bard go without saying anything else. Too bold, hauling the child into the saddle. Then again he hadn't expected such a spirited argument. If something magical, something unexpected, struck him directly in the chest - well Eragos supposed he would want to find out how he should feel about that. The healer seemed a logical place to go. Then again, some were not so concerned with magic as him. But to be completely unconcerned, to feel nothing, even as you were staring your own mortality in your face? Impossible. So whatever fear the bard felt of the magic was canceled by his fear of something else. Eragos did not need a small mystery to solve on top of the thousands of large ones that currently lurked all around him.
Snow was beginning to settle on his shoulders.
Even after the wagon's door closed Eragos stared at it for a long moment. There was nothing quite so terrible as feeling as a failure might. Wagons were moving again. Bloody snow was being left behind. And he had to ask himself what would come next. What else could possibly go wrong. A letter sent by pidgeon was next. And perhaps assistance from someone who was wise in the way of magic. He should not have come alone - but then, if he had not come alone, he would not have come at all.
Vargis. He needed to write a letter to Vargis.
This he set out to do, turning the horse with only the pressure of his knees, and setting out for the cramped wagon that was his home.