Hazael had no idea what had happened. One second he had been trying to pull the dark dog off of the old man and now… he was somehow on the temple steps? It didn’t make sense to the boy, he couldn’t quite string the missing memories together to form a coherent narrative as to why he had ended up here.

In truth, Hazael couldn’t remember Amiti stepping forward, defending him in the face of the rowdy and drunk Greek. Nor did he remember being thrown away like some piece of trash and not a human being. He also had no idea that his rescuer had been clocked in the jaw -- but at least the lack of that memory had been excusable as Hazael had not been conscious for that moment. How could he be? The soldier might have been drunk, but he was still strong. Even more so given that he had no sense of judgment. So he had practically hurled Hazael across the space and straight into the temple steps where his head had collided with the hefty stone that bore the weight of so many peaceful Judeans. Having almost no weight to his own bones and no helmet of any sort, Hazael had practically crumpled on the sight, his vision going dark from the moment that his head first connected with the stone.

However, he was beginning to come back into the world of wakefulness, and oh boy, did everything feel weird. Hazael couldn’t put his fingers on it exactly, but if he had to describe it, he would have said that whatever he was experiencing had an almost dream-like quality to it. Almost as if some sort of odd film had been placed over his thoughts, dulling them as he tried to sit up from where he had been thrown against the steps. He was clearly dazed, glancing around the scene with a confused expression, trying to take in what on earth had happened amid the already failing eyesight that now seemed to be flickering as his head adjusted to the beating that it had just taken. It wasn’t an easy thing to do as his own disability made it harder for him to see where the drunk man had gone or why there seemed to be a group of people gathered around another man lying on the smooth stone of the temple steps… or better yet why a crowd had gathered around him.

Hazael wasn’t sure what had happened that warranted several strangers rushing forward to the side of this cowardly second son who was viewed as a waste of space in his own home. However, he didn’t fight the few kind hands who tried to gently bring the boy up into a sitting position. Not that he was really in any place to do so anyway. At least not when he was so dazed that he was unaware that it was even happening in the first place until the sun was glaring in his eyes and the world felt that it was spinning all at once as his body was forced upright before it was ready for the change. A strangled groan of protest left him as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out and maybe stop the small stinging bursts of pain behind his temples and at the back of his head.

When had the sun gotten so bright?

Hearing Bracha bark in the background, Hazael instinctively called out to the blonde Saluki, calling for her to stop her shrill noises. “Bracha, enough.” The words that were normally firm came out somewhat slurred, the first real indicator to those around Hazael that something was wrong with the boy who had found himself on the wrong side of an angry Greek. However, it seemed to do the trick as Bracha calmed down. Though, what Hazael didn’t know that his dog ceasing in her barking had less to do with the boy’s command and more along the lines of the closest person to Hazael having momentarily earned the hound’s trust. The boy hadn’t known it in the heat of the moment, but Bracha had been doing her duty as his ever-loyal hound and yapping at everyone who had gotten close to Hazael. She definitely earned some extra treats when all of this was good and done.

However, getting there was going to be a bit of a challenge. He was able to nod in response to Abir’s question. Yes, he could sit up. It hurt like hell and he had needed a bit of help because it made his head hurt with this awful pounding feeling, but he could do it. Hazael could tell that something was wrong with him, but as his thoughts began to clear, the young man was able to rationalize the pain a bit when he felt the warm, sticky sensation of blood pooling at the back of his head. With his eyes beginning to blink open again, growing used to the harsh light, Hazael tentatively reached up to where his head had hit the stair. He wasn’t all that surprised to find an inflamed bump, seemingly as big as some sort of egg underneath his fingertip. It throbbed something awful and the fact that his fingers came back wet, red, and sticky was not exactly reassuring. Even in his terrible eyesight, the boy could see the crimson stain dotting his fingers. It wasn’t that difficult really, given how pale Hazael was. His own milky skin stood in dark contrast to the dark, seemingly jet black curls. That was probably why Abir’s mother hadn’t been able to see the boy’s injury at first. The red was almost impossible to notice among the dark hair.

Though as Hazael glanced around, he also noticed how this crimson was not only decorating his own body. The other man that was lying on the ground? His poor eyesight was apparently well enough to notice that the Amiti was covered in it as well. It was hard to tell how much there really was as the smears in his vision always made it seem like there was more than there really was -- but either way, it was worrisome enough that folks were calling for a healer. Now, Haz was no trained physician by any means, but the boy did know a thing or two about healing nasty injuries. He had dealt with more than his fair share of cuts on his dogs and not too recently, Hazael had even gone as far as to help the Egyptian man Zoser when no one else in Israel would have. Not when they were all too concerned with stoning him to death for merely being in their city.

Now the boy was clearly in no shape to be offering any sort of assistance. He was injured in his own right and quite frankly, he should be seen by a healer as well. However, in his dazed state, Hazael wasn’t aware of how serious his injuries really were. The pain from his injured head dulled his thoughts and he couldn’t string together the single coherent thought he needed to remind himself that he really shouldn’t move. With that crucial part of his train of thought missing, Hazael didn’t consider the consequences as he half-stumbled, half-crawled to Amiti’s side. His gait was wobbly due to the head injury, but that was practically negated as he was able to kneel next to the nobleman and got a good look at the injuries that his rescuer had managed to earn himself in the chaos. “I’m not a healer, but I can help.” His voice was fairly quiet, but Hazael didn’t seem to notice as he tried to sort out what parts of the red smear he saw were actually there. Even with his blindness, he could see that the Greek had gotten a pretty hefty punch in.

He saw that the woman closest to him was offering Amiti water to drink, but the boy with the concussion didn’t think that was the best course of action. “No, clear the blood away,” He practically murmured, trying to direct Selima to give him a bit of help in seeing what the actual extent of injuries Amiti had been dealt. Not that he any guarantee that the noblewoman would listen to him. Hazael did admit outright that he was not a healer. But even still, his experience with his dogs had taught him the basics. His help might be negated as soon as they arrived, but at least it was something so poor Amiti didn’t sit in his own blood. In the meanwhile, Hazael could at least recommend the most basic herbs used to clean wounds, if it only meant that it wouldn’t take as long for the physicians to have it brought to them once they arrived. “Honey and Hyssop. To clean the wound. He’ll need some of it.”

Although this was fairly simple and straightforward for Hazael to step in and do this sort of thing; he wasn’t thinking about what everyone else would be thinking as this clearly injured boy stepped up to help someone else. This kid that the man sprawled out on the ground had called a street urchin in his thoughts just a moment ago was now offering aid to him, despite the fact that Hazael had no real reason to do so. It was a bit unexpected, to say the least, and likely to cause a bit of a stir. Though it wouldn’t nearly be as large as the drunk greek now thrashing about in the custody of the armed guards, but still just enough to be noticeable nevertheless.