The Chaktawe strained, hauling one leg over the stallion’s back and toppling to the ground. Shahar, already connected to the man’s elbow, went down as well in an attempt to catch him; he managed to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and by then the healer was already upon the two.
“Stay away from his wound,” she commanded.
“Under his other arm. We need to get him inside.”Shahar took the uninjured side of his body while she took the other, hands more gentle and practiced than the rough fingers of the hunter. Together they managed to get him off the ground and into the River Flower.
The healing tent was less full than usual, something that could likely be blamed on the Great Race that was surely taking place by now; most patients able enough to ride had made their way over, and a number of healers had chosen to watch the festivities as well, leaving plenty of space for the stranger to be laid out near the entrance. His skin was burning, and he had slipped into unconsciousness; a quick glance at his wound, and the the woman turned to bark at an idle healer.
“Hot water!” she demanded.
“Cloth, knife and catgut!”She turned back to her patient and began peeling at his clothing, trying to remove as much as she could without actually touching the clotted material.
Grunting, Shahar pulled out his own knife and offered it.
“Good enough for now.” The healer took his knife and cut clean through the Chaktawe’s shirt, parting it lengthwise and neatly exposing his chest.
Even beyond his immediate injury, the man had obviously suffered greatly. There were recent cuts and bruises, and under those were scars upon scars of repeated suffering. Shahar noted them but made no comment, and neither did the Opal woman.
In mere heartbeats, as if by magic, a bowl of steaming water, some folded cloth, a smaller knife and a coil of catgut and needles was set beside them, and the woman quickly began to dab at the cloth over the wound, soaking it gently with near-boiling water that pierced the scabbing blood and softened it enough to pull the rest of his shirt away without injuring him farther. Beneath it was the wide, gaping gash of whatever animal had rendered him to such a state, although beneath the infection Shahar could not tell what the perpetrator was.
“That’s enough help from you,” the healer said to him as she handed his knife back and reached for her own.
“I need space for this. You need to leave now.”Inclining his head in
respectful gratitude, Shahar stepped away from where the Chaktawe lay, spared a final glance to the healer and quietly made his way outside.
Akaidras and Tuka had wandered to the far side of the area in front of the River Flower, where they were in aggressive posturing contest with the young groom that was trying to tend to them. Before it could escalate into any real altercation, Shahar placed himself in the middle of the conflict with
peace, be calm written in his body. While neither the groom nor the animals became particularly calm, they did at least shift focus from each other to Shahar.
“Are these yours?” asked the groom,
irritated.Yes, mine, thank you, I’ll take care of them.The groom let out a huff somewhere between annoyance and relief, leaving the clanless hunter to his cat and Strider.
Shahar settled down to wait, fussing over Akaidras and Tuka to ease their discomfort; none of them liked being this far inside Endrykas, but there was little choice––the Chaktawe was alone, and with no one else interested in the task it looked like the responsibility for his care had fallen to Shahar.
Time wore on as it often did, and Shahar continued to wait as people moved in and out of the pavilion on different business. The shadows had shifted slightly by the time an apprentice emerged, heading unmistakably for the trio.
Coming to me, what news? Shahar asked, skipping the greeting altogether.
“He’s alive,” the boy said.
“She wants to talk to you inside.”Rising, Shahar signaled for the strider and cat to
be comfortable, wait just a bit longer, and followed the boy back into the River Flower.
The woman and Chaktawe had not moved from where they had set down, although the Chaktawe didn’t seem nearly as… dying as he had before. His wound was obscured beneath a layer of bandages, somewhat bulging to suggest the presence of a poultice of some kind. The healer looked up when he entered and gestured for him to
sit down.Shahar sat.
“He will live,” she told him.
“The wound was deep, but he is strong and the infection was not too old to treat.” Safety, but, “He has a high fever, and he will need rest. He should remain here until his temperature drops.”How long?“A day, maybe two or three. After that, we cannot keep him.”Understood.“Where do you live?”North-side outskirts.“Is he of your family?”Shahar
hesitated; what was the proper response?
I… will take care of him.She nodded.
“We will send word when it is time. As for payment…”Shahar reacted with
respectful confidence; he did not know how much the River Flower would ask for, but he was certain he would have enough––his mizas were plentiful.
When the price was given and the money exchanged, Shahar was shooed unceremoniously out of the River Flower; there were still others to treat, and injured riders from the Great Race were beginning to appear. He returned to Akaidras and set off for home, mind turning over the plans that would have to be changed, the items he would have to get to make space for this newcomer and the explaining he had ahead of him. The new person at the hearth had sprung from nowhere, and it would take time to adjust; all he could hope for was that the Chaktawe could adapt to them as well.
- End -
oocI have no idea what medical attention of that degree would cost, so feel free to take however much you think is appropriate.
