Sidra knew there were Breccans present who were sick, and yet they kept their mouths closed. Her joy began to dwindle, watching them refuse to yield. Torin waited, but when no one moved, he began to tuck the bowl of remedy back into his satchel. He was looking at Sidra again, his eyes tracing her every line and curve, when a voice at last broke the quiet. “I need to be healed.” Sidra turned to see that David Breccan had stepped forward.
