“I imagine not,” Victor chuckled. He had been there, himself, not terribly long ago. It didn’t feel all that long ago. He had been a nervous wreck while both of his sons were coming into the world, unable to sleep or be still until one of the old women came for him. Likely, he’d be in no different a state when the child Lor was currently carrying decide to come into the world.
As Idryius went on about the general wariness of the people, Victor sighed softly, swallowing a generous amount from his mug. “This is an unprecedented situation, and no one quite knows what to think. It will take time, but I’m sure once people grow used to the reality of what has happened, they will be warmer towards you. It’s only been a week.”
Victor gave Idryius a look in response to his comment about Beka treating him like he was on his deathbed. “You were. Think on this; in all of our travels from Dawnstar to here, you were suffering from a grave wound left mostly untreated and largely unhealed because you refused potions. You refused food—something that as a werewolf, you require more of than the average man, due to your supernatural stamina. By the time we got here, Idryius, this body—” he gestured to Idryius, “—had become wasted by a noticeable degree, thanks to those deprivations. You took sustenance and potions towards the very end, but it wasn’t enough to undo the damage immediately. When Samuel left this place, he was healthy, strong, and whole. When you arrived here, you most certainly did look like you were on your deathbed.”
Victor refilled his mug and slouched a bit more comfortably in his chair. He stared at his drink thoughtfully, mulling something over. “I know that this has been very difficult for you. The valley will begin to warm in a month or so, and we’ll be able to build again. If things grow too uncomfortable for you, staying in Samuel’s home with Beka and their child, it would not be difficult to build a small place for you to live instead.”