Accepting would've meant Wilhelm was going to ingest some suspicious thick liquid, probably as gag inducing if not toxic as the last tonic the hermit forced Mirrah to drink. It meant side effects which were vague and unlisted, dangerous and unknown, because they were never tested on people. It meant it could potentially kill him, and judging from how Phsara was phrasing it, Mirrah as well. And worse of all, it meant she probably would be stuck with the boy for who knows how long. An eternity perhaps. A boy who was unappreciative and stingy half the time and probably delusional for the remainder. All common sense told Mirrah that she had only known the boy for a few weeks and though they were not strangers, she could hardly call them friends. Common sense told Mirrah to just turn away and utter "Tough luck" and pilfer through his pockets for her pay.

And yet despite all that, her mind, frantic with worry, responded with a swiftness that marked how she wasn't one for common sense.

"I'll do it." It almost surprised her how quickly she said it.

Dusk spun about where he was sitting, shouting though his was right next to Mirrah. "What, are you crazy?!" Dusk said the exact words that was running through Mirrah's mind.

Mirrah ignored him, keeping her eyes fixated on Phsara's face, one hand tightly wound around the damp cloth in her lap, the other holding her hand steady. Mirrah said it again, just for good measure. "I'll do it." Phsara looked back with a grim face of her own, even as Mirrah began stripping her arms bare. The cool air brushing against her arms only added to the goosebumps rising from knowing what had to be done. She held out her hand to Phsara, taking in a deep breath. Her eyes were dancing around the scalpel, even as Dusk grasped her arm.

"Hold on! Dun tell me you believe a word she's sayin'! She said it herself she dunno what kind of crap it'll do to him!"

Mirrah darted him a sharp glare though it was made more pitiful by her reddening eyes. "Well I can't expect you to do it for me!"

"Stop an' think for a sec, okay!" Dusk pulled away, facing Phsara. "Enough with the potions and powders! What we gotta do is take 'im to the doctor."

"You just said that no doctor's going to meet us up here!"

"Yeah well it's a better plan than takin' whatever hoodoo she put in that soup! What we need is professional help!"

Mirrah whipped her hand out from Dusk's her glare turning more hostile with each passing second. "She saved our lives if you don't remember! And that tonic she fed him earlier did something. That's gotta say something about this too!" Her eyes lowered to the bowl sitting besides Wilhelm. The longer she looked at it, the more it started to look like her last hope.

"No, the pirate is right, even if marginally." Her face, though composed as it usually was, held the slightest traces of annoyance. "You need to be thoroughly prepared. Something like this can't be undone so easily."

Mirrah gave Phsara a sidelong glance, her lips pursed. "Let's just get this over with." Dusk gave a frustrated moan but didn't do any more than that in protest. Phsara had already held out the bowl in one hand, the blade in the other.

Mirrah took the blade from Phsara's hand, placing the edge firmly in her palm before closing that hand into a fist. The cold steel bit deep into her flesh, Mirrah biting back any form of pain that dared to show up on her face as she drew the blade quickly across her hand. A thin sliver of blood trickled from her fist, slowed by her curled fingers. But even as Mirrah held it out over the bowl, allowing the blood to drop into the bowl, Phsara cupped Mirrah's fist with her own hand and plunged it deep into the dark liquid.

Here Mirrah could do nothing but flinch. Though there wasn't a lot of liquid in the bowl to begin with, there was enough to submerge Mirrah's cut. The soup felt like murky sand and she could already feel the water seeping through her fingers and into her open wound. Needless to say, it stung like hell. Phsara held down Mirrah's hand for a few seconds more before allowing her to pull out. She pointed to the wash basin, handing her a fresh towel but said no words. She already took to wisking the solution with a spoon.

Mirrah was glad to dunk her hand into the basin full of water, glad to feel the sting of the cool water brushing against her cut, even if it were virtually the same pain she felt inside that bowl of stuff. Somehow it was just a better pain, a much cleaner pain.

Dusk was peering at her from where he was sitting, a determined frown engraved on his face as well. "I'm still takin' you to Gunner's Point, you hear me?" Mirrah almost smiled at his comment. Almost.

Before Mirrah could dry herself off, Phsara handed out the bowl towards Mirrah. Mirrah, in return, gave her a surprised look. She didn't even have to say it, it was written all over her face.

Phsara didn't urge the bowl closer though her eyes were impatient. "You first." She nodded towards Wilhelm who's groaning only made Mirrah more nervous. "Then him."

Mirrah's mouth was open, ready to say something in protest, but her eyes just kept staring at the murky reflection of the ceiling in the bowl. She had to drink first? She had to endure whatever tonic this was first? She darted Dusk a glance, her mouth still open as if waiting for the man to speak up in her defense. He was just as surprised as she were if not concerned. But before anyone could even say anything, another timely groan from Wilhelm eased Mirrah's hands around the bowl.

"Mirrah, wait--!"

It was too late, the liquid was already sliding down her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying deeply that the drink was at least tasteless or bearable as she felt the grains of whatever it was Phsara was grinding coat her tongue and throat. Phsara had to physically take the bowl away from Mirrah before she was able to down the rest. She immediately broke out into a series of coughs, spitting out black specks and water onto the floor.

By the time Phsara removed the bowl from Mirrah's lips, Mirrah couldn't believe what she had done. She would be responsible entirely for Wilhelm's well being. Would she be able to sleep? Did she need to stay nearby Wilhelm? Would she have to act as his babysitter? Gods, would it even work? This was taking the idea of bodyguard to an entirely new level. Mirrah was already starting to feel feverish, whether it was from the drink or just from stress and unrecovered fatigue finally surfacing Mirrah didn't know.

The sound of an empty stone bowl clacking against the wooden boards drew Mirrah out of her thoughts, pulling her eyes toward's Wilhelm's face. Phsara was already laying his head back down onto the rock of a pillow, wiping a dark trickle of the concotion from the corner of the boy's lips. Nothing to do now but anxiously wait to see if Wilhelm would waken.