He hadn’t seen Jaryd since… since the day after the test. And right now he wasn’t sure how he’d react if he did come face to face with the Asha’man, so maybe that was for the best. He could get his act together and not embarrass either of them.
Or that was the idea.
How he was ever going to accomplish that — the getting his act together part; he was fairly sure embarrassing himself would be all too easy — when simply thinking about Jaryd made his chest constrict painfully, he had no idea. It wasn’t real, he told himself angrily, but the thought was drowned out by the images crowding in; Jaryd falling to his knees, curling around the fatal wound; Jaryd looking up at him, saying it had been worth it; Jaryd’s lifeless eyes staring at him as he looked back just before stepping into the Arch—
Never stop smiling.
Jaren stopped in the middle of the hallway, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. A deep breath. It wasn’t real. Though the last bit had been; Jaryd had actually said that, but it had been while drunk and dancing at the ill-fated ball, not… not while dying, for Light’s sake! Jaryd was alive. And Jaren intended to see that he stayed that way, if there was anything he could do about it.
Which was what brought him to the Infirmary looking for the First Weaver. The Basic Healing class had left very little doubt as to his Healing ability. At least in the traditional way of saidin-channellers, he was never going to save lives. That had been a hard truth to swallow… But the traditional saidin way was not the only way, was it? Saidar-users Healed differently, and if that was something Jaren could learn—
It had to be a possibility. He wouldn’t accept that it wasn’t.
The Infirmary was not terribly busy at this time, which was lucky; Jaren wouldn’t want to take up the First Weaver’s time if the Yellows had a lot of work in their hands. In fact Jaren felt a little foolish to be bothering the First Weaver at all. As someone who had barely passed the Basic Healing class, what business had he in the Infirmary, bothering not only an Asha’man of the Yellow Ajah but the First Weaver himself with his dilemma? But he couldn’t give up.
Dismissing his doubts he scanned the room until he spotted Maever Donovan, then made a beeline towards the Asha’man. He hadn’t really planned how to bring up the topic, his thoughts turned into a jumbled mess of hope and anxiety when he tried to formulate any kind of strategy, but he had to do this. He had to try. “First Weaver?” he addressed the older man, a little embarrassed to hear the slight tremor in his voice. “Excuse me, sir, do you have a moment?”
