Stranger Danger (Mitt)

[Shiress]

42nd Day
Fall 522

Despite an aching back, throbbing feet, and tired legs, Shiress left The Children's Pavillion in a fairly good mood. She would be off work the next day with plans to relax, catch up on her journal, and an evening spent unwinding in the company of her son and beloved black feline companion.

Darkness was not far off when Shiress and Ian began the familiar journey home. A gentle breeze wafted through the trees, stirring the loose hair around her face and encouraging her four-year-old to run ahead and chase the fallen leaves caught up in the draft. Walking along, Shiress tugged at the confines of her hair, freeing the long, chestnut locks to flow freely down the length of her back, the ends swaying just below her bottom.

Despite Syna's rays sinking westward over the Suvan and the shade of the tall trees creeping over the Bungalow, the early evening was still warm when Shiress and Ian made it home. Once inside, Shiress wasted no time trading overly warm work attire for something...cooler. For most of Syka's community, this might mean the shedding of clothes completely to lounge around their homes as naked as the day they were born. Shiress wasn't quite so confident.

Instead, the doctor settled for changing into a floral print halter and a pair of blue hip-hugging soft pants. With her flat belly exposed down to lean hips, the outfit was most definitely comfort garb and about as brazen as Shiress got.

Stepping back into the small living space, Shiress spotted Ian, arms full of wooden carvings of animals, making his way back outside. The little boy was undoubtedly heading for his favorite sandy spot outside.

"Ian, stay close to the porch! No wandering off!" she ordered and got a, "kay!" flung back over a shoulder. She watched the boy make straight for the sand to the right of the small porch and start setting out his horses before turning toward the small counter and pulling free a cup. With thought and a gentle caress of the wine bottle charm on the bracelet around her wrist, the cup filled with a deep red liquid, and Shiress grinned.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Cup in hand, Shiress lowered herself onto the two cushioned couch beside Shadow, tucking her legs beneath her. She had just tipped the cup back to drink deeply when the sound of Ian's footsteps stomped across the small porch and through the door.

"Finished playing already? Are you hun-" she began but bit off the rest of what she was about to say when her eyes lifted to her son. Or, more accurately, to the light haired man standing behind Ian. The boy was excitedly saying something, but Shiress focused solely on the stranger. A man that the doctor had not seen before, and in such a small community that Syka was, the sight sent a niggle of fear up her spine.

Setting the cup aside, Shiress rose slowly from where she had been sitting, closed the distance to her son, and pulled Ian behind her, placing herself between the boy and the stranger. With wary eyes trained on the man, Shiress straightened to her full height, cleared her throat, and spoke much more confidently than she felt.

"Can I help you, sir?"

[Mittle]

Mitt held out his left arm awkwardly as he walked around searching Syka. The doctor's place shown on the map wasn't there. The doctor wasn't there. What did he do now?

He walked along the beach, his mind buzzing with pain. Still clad in his heavy pants, boots, leather apron and a long sleeve shirt with a burn through the left sleeve, the young smith was sweating buckets under the growing sunburn.

If Artik hadn't dropped the wine bottle behind him while he was working, he wouldn't have fell on to the side of the forge. Some might say he was lucky it was just an eight inch long burn and not something more serious. But Mitt was feeling only the incredibly mind numbing throb in his left arm.

The tall young man rolled up his left sleeve carefully, trying to separate it from the burn. And half of the wound burst open, still clinging to the shirt.

"AAAHH! YOU PETCHING PIECE A SHYKE!"

"YOU PETCHING PIECE A SHYKE!" yelled and mimicked a little voice behind him, about ten paces away.

The green eyed little boy grinned up at him with the joy of shouting curses.
"That was fun! Anything else you got? Shade has some really creative ones!" the boy piped up, clearly enjoying it as game.

Mitt turned around to see the little imp chirping his questions at him and he blushed beneath the sunburn. He worked hard not to contort his face in pain but gave up trying pretty quickly.

"Those weren't something to repeat kiddo. I got a bit of a burn so I said some bad words. Adult words. I think maybe you shou-"

Ian's eyes widened at the sight of the burn and he quickly replied,
"There's like blood gushing out and everything! Cool! My mom gets to see stuff like that all day- she's a doctor!"

"Your mom's the doctor?"

"Yea she gets to work with blood and guts and all kinds of cool shyke-"

"Stuff. Shyke is grown up talk, not kid talk. Hear me?" Mitt told him firmly with a stern look, but kept a light smile on his face to soften the scolding.

"Where is your mom anyway? I think I need to see a doctor but I can't find one. I got a bit of a burn on my arm."

Ian looked thoughtful for a moment, taking a second to think about it.
"I can show you where we live. Mommy's there." he wrapped both little hands around Mitt's right hand and tried to drag him in an eastern direction.

"I'll take you to her. And why can't I say shyke, um stuff like that? I'm four now!" He let go with one hand to hold it up with his thumb tucked in.
"See? I'm four!"

In spite of the pain, he couldn't help but laugh at Ian's antics and chatterbox mouth.

"Because you have to earn your swear words little man. I had to learn how to work ten or fourteen bell days for at least eight seasons before I earned my swears. The harder you work, the more you can curse."

Big green eyes searched his face for the truth and Mitt winked at him.

"I promise. You can ask your mom if you can get me there. My name's Mitt."

"I'm Ian. And mommy's pretty, you're gonna like her."

Thankfully Ian was now dragging Mitt's hand behind his little back so he could go back to making ouch faces and mouthing the curses he needed so badly to vent. Just around the curved strand, Ian led him up some stairs and started talking to a gorgeous but very pissed off woman.

"Mommy mommy! I found a guy with a bloody burn on his arm! Look at that!"

Mitt grinned sheepishly and held up his blistered forearm.

"Yes ma'am, this young man said you're a doctor? I don't mean to impose on you. If you would please let me know where the doctor is, I'll be on my way." Mitt knew better than to mess with a Momma bear and her cub. He didn't feel like dying.

WC 690

[Shiress]

Shiress eyed the stranger another tick before allowing her gaze to drop to the arm he held out for her to see. There was indeed a large opened burn on the man's forearm, and her gaze softened when she realized the man had to be in pain.

"I'm sorry, yes, I'm the doctor...or one of the doctors, " she replied, then looking down at the little boy by her side, said, "Go and get Mommy's bag," returning her attention to the man, Shiress held out a hand toward his burned arm," may I," she asked, but not waiting on a reply, gently ran the tips of her fingers along the reddened shin beside the angry wound.

The man would feel a tingling on his skin just below where Shiress touched, Rak'keli's gift flowing from the doctor and into him. The burning sensation would somewhat fade as the burn's interior became drier.

Shiress lowered her hand and lifted her gaze, smiling, "Sorry, but that looked quite painful," she said, then took a step back, indicating the table off to the side, "Have a seat, and I'll wrap it up for you. How did you get such a burn?"

Ian came charging back into the room, hefting the big medical bag. Shiress took the bag and set it on the table, glancing at the man, "I'm Shiress," she said, setting out a white bandage, tape, and jar of a pasty brown salve, "Sorry about earlier, I haven't seen a stranger around Syka for a while. You kind of shocked me," she grinned, "have you been here long?

Ian bounced up to the table, eyes wide as he took in the man's burned armed as any young boy would, "Does it hurt? I bet it hurts, huh? Should I go get Lexi, Mommy?"

Shiress shook her head at her son's curiosity, "No, baby, I've got this one just fine, but you can get me some water, please." As Ian moved away, Shiress turned her attention back to the stranger, "Lexi is my apprentice at the Children's Pavillion," she explained.

With everything set out that she would need, Shiress pulled out a chair and lowered herself into it, motioning for the man to stretch out his arm, "Let's get you feeling better, Mr...?"

[Mittle]

Mitt stood awkwardly on the porch, not quite sure what to do or say. The woman went from clearly hostile to quick smiles. As she approached, he put his shoulders back, exhaled and rocked back on his heels. He knew as a doctor, she'd have to touch a slag imbedded welt, but it didn't make him like it either.

"I didn't mean to barge into your home ma'am. I was looking for a healing clinic and the boy found me wandering." If there was more than one doctor maybe he should look for him or her? "If you direct me to the other doctor, I can go there instead of bothering you." Sweat streamed down his face at the sunburn and the pain of the welt, so he wasn't exactly thinking calmly or rationally at the moment.

Beneath her light touch, magic tingled along his skin making a shudder run down his spine. He hoped that wasn't for healing or the razor sharp metal flakes imbedded in his burned flesh would make for a nasty infection. The young smith didn't trust magic and it made him wary at best and his normally grey eyes sparked into blue.

He looked around the room, trying to take his mind off the long blistered burn, the smell of his own burnt flesh, hot metal, sweat and the seventy pounds of heavy leather he wore beneath the sunburn.

"I fell on the side of a hot iron forge. There's always some charred slag- metal flakes on everything at the Smithy." Mitt answered.

He moved slowly and cautiously to the table Shiress had indicated, his heavy boots resounding loudly in the room and sat down. Vivid blue eyes roamed the tools set out, looking for the necessary but much loathed tweezers. Tweezing wicked-edged metal shards out of a burn welt was the most excruciating pain he'd ever known in his short life. But then again, it wasn't the first time he'd been through it and he knew for damn sure it wouldn't be the last. The young man resigned himself to the inevitable.

"I didn't mean to shock you." Mitt shook his tawny head. "No, I've been here only ten days."

Ian asked his questions and Mitt only had time to nod as his mother swiftly sent him off to another task.

"Mitt Stryke."

WC 389 Total WC 690 Gross 1,079

[Shiress]

Shiress shook her head in what she hoped was a reassuring way at the man's earlier comment," you're definitely no bother. I'm more than happy to help."

Gently pulling his arm close, Shiress peered closely at the burn, noting the broken blister and what was left of the fluid that the blister had held, as she listened to how Mitt had come about the burn, "This may scar," she pointed out, "but probably not too bad. It's a deep burn, but I don't think it's deep enough to worry about the muscle and tendons. I'll need to do what is called debriding, which means I'll clean off the damaged skin," she glanced up with a slight grimace, "it may be a little painful. I can give you something to make you a little groggy if you'd like. Either way, I can add some herbs to numb the area as best I can."

Shiress dug around in her medical bag, withdrawing a small glass vile of a greenish concoction of cloves, turmeric, and lavender paste. Upending the jar, she filled the palm of her hand with the sweet-smelling salve. She gently rubbed it along the outside of the burn, "Good thing about burns is that it happens so fast that there's little time for you to get too much debris in the burn, especially if it blisters, and by the looks of the skin peeling off the wound, it looks like you may have broken the blister already. Believe it or not, the fluid inside that blister actually helps to clean the burn," Shiress smiled, hoping she made sense.

"Now, we wait for a few chimes for that paste to start numbing you up before I clean it. Sound good?" Shiress stood, speaking over her shoulder as she moved away, "Would you like some water? I have fresh apple juice, also."

Ian returned with a water pitcher and handed it over to his mother. Shiress poured half into a basin, threw in a cloth, and set it aside. "I take it you're a blacksmith or a metalsmith?" Shiress couldn't help but chuckle, "Have you run into Artik yet?" Shiress shook her head with a sigh, "I swore to that man I was going to get him sober one day."

Crossing the floor back to the table, Shiress sat her cup down in front of her chair along with a cup for Mitt. If the man didn't want anything to drink when she asked earlier, he probably would by the time she finished with him and sat, "Just a few more chimes," she smiled, glancing at the man's arm, "So, what brought you to Syka, Mr. Mitt Stryke. How you liking it so far?"

[Mittle]

Mitt tried to twist his head around but to no avail. With the burn on the underside of his left forearm, he couldn't get a complete look from that angle. He fervently thanked Izurdin that she knew what was going on because all he knew was that it hurt! He held out his shoulder awkwardly trying to let her reach the burn easier.

"No damage?! You're sure it's just a scar?" He nearly laughed with relief and pulled his arm away to roll up his right sleeve. The moment he lifted the material, it showed several shapes and types of burn scars on his right forearm top and bottom, from bicep all the way down his hand to the length of his fingers.
"I've been lucky there's only been scarred skin damage! Thank Izurdin!"

When she offered something to make him groggy, he shook his head no firmly.

"No thanks. I've had a couple burns so I know they hurt like fu--uh, more when doctors wanna pick at 'em and shi-stuff." His Sunberth accent and mannerisms came out stronger now but he was at least mentally relieved despite the pain.

"Oh" he looked down at his arm. "I think the blister came open when I picked my sleeve off of it. That's when I met your son."

With bright blue eyes he watched Shiress efficiently gather her tools showing a confident hand, the easy motions speaking of long practice. The butchers back home didn't clean anything and most definitely didn't offer pain killers or something to drink.

"Yes ma'am." Mitt said, answering both the numbing question and the water.
"Water would be great, thank you."

He saw the way Ian helped his mother and their closeness was evident to even a stranger like him. His eyes clouded over to dark blue with memories of the hours he'd spent helping his own mother side by side with so many things and it threatened to flood him if he didn't stop it cold.

Smithing? What? Arty? Yes, think of Artik instead.

"Yes ma'am I'm a blacksmith and I work wit' Artik." Mitt frowned, fully knowing that the man was a total drunk but he didn't think outsiders understood the whole story.

"How old is he? He looks around my dad's age. Well.. b-before he died." The young smith stuttered, cleared his throat and tried again.

"When a blacksmith reaches about forty or fifty, he's lost most of his hearing. I think that's why he mighta turned ta drink. Some of us can cope with the hearing loss but some can't. We blacksmiths take it as a matter of fact but I'm sure it would embarrass him ta admit it ta an outsider. I think if we could help him deal with that, he won't be so quick ta grab the bottle."

Mitt paused thoughtfully, "But if ya stay a blacksmith long enough, you always lose all your hearing." He shrugged, accepting it as part of their lot in life like the burns that peppered his arms and hands.

Mitt engulfed the small cup in a large work roughened hand and easily chugged down the water in three large gulps. Setting the empty cup back on the table, he tried again to twist his head and arm around to see the burn better.

"Mister?" he asked.
He answered her question openly.
"When my mother died, my dad and I set out for a clean safe place to live. He uh.. he made it about two days into the sailing last summer. Syka's fine. So what brought you to Syka?" The tawny haired man answered quietly, reversed the question, and twirled the empty cup in his hand.

WC 613 Total WC 1,692