“Or,” I added quietly, “it’s possible that I’ll be this way the rest of my life. That the poison or the beating damaged something permanently. Damn Regal, to kick me like that when I was trussed already.”
Burrich stood as if turned to ice. Then he sagged into the chair in the shadows. Defeat was in his voice. “Yes. That is just as possible as the other. But don’t you see we have no choice? I could physick you to try to force the poison out of your body. But if it’s damage, not poison, all I would do was weaken you, so that your body’s own healing would take that much longer.” He stared into the flames, and lifted a hand to touch a streak of white at his temple. I was not the only one who’d fallen to Regal’s treachery. Burrich himself was but newly recovered from a skull blow that would have killed anyone less thickheaded than he. I knew he had endured long days of dizziness and blurred vision. I did not recall he had complained at all. I had the decency to feel a bit of shame.
“So what do I do?”
Burrich started as if roused from dozing. “What we’ve been doing. Wait. Eat. Rest. Be easy on yourself. And see what happens. Is that so terrible?”
I ignored his question. “And if I don’t get better? If I just stay like this, where the tremors or fits can come over me at any time?”
His answer was slow in coming. “Live with it. Many folk have to live with worse. Most of the time you’re fine. You’re not blind. You’re not paralyzed. You’ve your wits, still. Stop defining yourself by what you can’t do. Why don’t you consider what you didn’t lose?”