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Once they get Catryn into the tent, Morag gets her wounds cleaned and bandaged up. "You'll need to rest." she tells Cat firmly. "And no not listening to me because you think it makes you strong. Father won't be impressed if you try push trough it when the healer has told you that you need more time."
"I could use some rest." Catryn tells her sister, giving her a warm smile. "You're the best, you know that?" Even when she wasn't tending to all of the wounds she seemed to incur. "I promise no more challenges for the duration. I may just head back early." There's a pause and she says softly. "Thank you."
The dark cousin following in the sister's midst says nothing. For her to be quiet is no oddity; Eirian's moods can be fickle by anyone's standards, but rarely does she lapse into contemplative states out of squeamishness or affronts to family honour. Blossoms shed from her long braids continue to leave a trail of crumbs for others to follow did they wish to face an irate Catryn or Morag's displeasure. She kneels near the entrance to the tent, half in the healing world and half facing the outside realm, in case something should be needed and Anais isn't about to be useful. Playing a runner isn't her usual task, either, but it hardly matters insofar as her kin are involved.
"It's what I'm here for." Morag reminds Catryn gently, sitting on the edge of her palet. She looks over at Eirian. "You may as well come inside." Back to Cat. That pig didn't need to be so rough with you. And for some lesson he seems to think it was his right to teach you!" Outraged Morag is outraged.
With a rueful twist of her lips, Catryn allows, "At the winter tournament, I beat his cousin, Kamron de Dinton. He fell and I continued to strike him. I am certainly not as strong as the man I fought today and he used that to his advantage to strike me twice while I was down. So I think I owe him one for it to be even." There's a hardness to her tone, an unforgiving note but she softens her expression as she looks to her sister and her cousin. "Please come in Eirian, you're quiet." Studying her, she gives a smile to the both. "I will heal."
The tent flap falls and leaves a dimness through the room probably unalleviated much by whatever they use, lanterns or a hole in the top for light. Eirian moves in a whisper of rosewater and lingering honey, though some undertone of leather remains for the attentive. "Two sins do not counterbalance one another." A heavy weight lies on her brow and those distant words are soft, almost whispered rather than intrude upon the others. She meets neither of their eyes, circling the room to assure herself of something or another. Woe to anyone trying to listen in. "Though none stay their blows from an enemy on the battlefield."
Morag's nose twitches in annoyance. "This sort of thing will only get worse with time. There may be other ways to create an even keel, but I know little of such matters."
"You would find no argument from me whether the evening of it comes from me or another of my family. I figure he is owed one and will see it delivered by anyone's hand." That would be the cruel Catryn speaking there. She looks at her cousin but her countenance is only slightly contrite. "My sin was the first. His was the second and third, so it needs to be leveled lest he think he has the upper hand. One day, perhaps not even this year, he will get his due."
Eirian continues her circuit and comes to the place she started, kneeling carefully as she does so. Her black cloak melts into the shadows and were the hood up, she might look like the spectre of a washer at the ford. Her fingers curl lightly around her knees, gaze directed askance. "A bitter winter comes when we tally insults leveled upon us to incremental levels. The best vengeance upon him is thriving and excelling in spite of him," she says tonelessly, each word a hammer blow on that pert tongue of hers.
"He's a Dinton, isn't he?" Morag notes thoughtfully. "There was a Dinton at Beltaine, Lady Heulwen. She seemed…quite taken by Caerwyn."
Oh it's tough to take the words from Eirian, but Catryn looks at her, a sign she is listening, considering. The question from Morag brings her attention back to her sister. "He's the Dinton heir." There's a lift of her brows. "Someone was taken with Caer?" It.. surprises her but brings a smile. "Good, he needs good things in his life." She stifles a yawn.
Eirian does not speak, nor so much as lift her face to either of her blood kin. The only thing she offers is a gentle nod under the weight of Catryn's gaze, and from then, the diffuse silence is hers to claim. She's not fey for nothing.
"And do you think the Dinton heir will be particularly pleased that a Dinton lady might be taken with our brother if he knew?" Morag points out patiently. "I wouldn't worry too much about revenge. It may play itself out in the affections of others."
A slow smile curves her lips, "That is revenge enough, for a Dinton to be smitten with a Burcombe. With my twin." A look is passed between the two, eyes narrowed briefly in speculation. "I want my brother happy and I would not endanger any fragile or tentative bonds he may be sharing with a Lady." (Catryn)
On that slender note, Eirian rises to her feet. The muffled sounds of activity without draw her notice, another ragged round of cheers echoing into the night. She does not remain where she is long, peeking out to see what the mild commotion is about.
"Don't worry," says Morag with soothing assurance. "I'll see to it that the two of them have opportunity to see where these feelings take them. Leave it to me."
"I will, Morag, I will leave it to you, because the happiness of my family is important. Even if I have to kill the Dinton with kindness." Catryn lays her head back and smiles, "Want to go see how our brother fares? I promise to remain here and rest."