A high-pitched cry jerked Kestrel's attention away from the pot of squirrel stew just starting to bubble (at least, the creature had resembled a squirrel, but there was so little meat on it that Kestrel had at first thought it to be a very furry rat). She had enough presence of mind to shove the pot off the fire before running out to see (after a fashion; her bad leg made actual running somewhat difficult.)
Flint sat on the ground, clutching a bleeding knee, his face scrunched up trying bravely not to cry. His mother sighed in exasperation as she bent down to examine this latest cut, but that changed quickly to worry when she saw how long and deep the cut was.
Dear spirits! Kestrel clapped a hand to her mouth, and put the other to Flint's injured knee, pressing hard. She gathered the weeping toddler into her arms and shambled as quickly as she could to the healer/priest’s hut. The blood was still flowing sluggishly when she stumbled into someone just as he was leaving the ramshackle excuse for a temple and hospital, as well as the priest's home.
"Excuse me," she mumbled, and stepped to the side to go around the hard body of the man she'd bumped, and into the shadows of the hut. Inside, Cleft was kneeling at the shrine to the spirits, chanting in the language only he knew. She knew she shouldn't disturb him, she risked the anger of the spirits if she did, but this was an emergency. Cuts this deep sometimes went bad, and someone as young as Flint could--well, she didn't want another Iron.
"Sir? Sir, my son, he's cut himself badly, and I don't know what to do. Please, help me!" She was babbling, she knew, but she had to get it out before Cleft sent her away. He didn't seem too angry; he only ignored her as his chant wound to a close. Then, still without saying anything to her, he took Flint from her and waved her away while he took some of the herbs down from the wall. She hesitated and the priest's gestures grew more emphatic. She limped out, worried nearly sick over her son.
"What happened, Kestrel?" came a voice from her left. She turned her head so her good eye was facing the speaker.
"Wolf! I don't know; I was making dinner, and Flint screamed. I only saw that his leg was sliced open; I don't know what did it. I came here right away. Cleft was chanting to the spirits when I came in, and he wouldn't say anything. It's like someone died..." she trailed off at the shake of Wolf's head. "Someone did die. Who was it?"
[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]
|