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Inzillomì thought longingly of her husband as she rode. His handsome face took up permanent residence before her eyes, leaving her to guide her mount simply by instinct. She listened vaguely to every sound in her vicinity, not taking much interest in them. Birds sang cheerfully at the heightening of the sun as tack jingled and children giggled. Adults were appropriately solemn as they left their homes for the unknown East.
Her eyes were bright, but she planned to blame it on the sun if she was asked. No sense in showing weakness, she thought cynically. She fell back to whisper in the ear of a tall man riding a fiesty stallion. He discreetly palmed the small bottle in her hand. Falling back farther, she rode beside the children and their watchers, taking a small girl into her saddle.
"Do you see, child?" she asked, directing the wee one's vision to a pair of bright birds dancing through the air. She kneed her mount into a prance, startling laughs from the girl. A cry broke through the air as a man fell from his saddle... the same man she had spoken to a short time ago. Passing the girl to the man next to her, Inzillomì quickly dismounted, running to the man. He lay on the ground clutching his ankle. He smiled weakly at the lady as she looked at him with grave concern. He moved his hands to show her a spreading bruise across his swollen ankle.
"You'll want to keep that covered with pressure," she whispered, motioning to the bruise. His purple palms went back to his ankle as he cringed against the swelling. An empty vial fell from his sleeve to be pocketed by Inzillomi. "Nîlozâira! We require your assistance." Inzillomi called as the party stopped, milling. The grandmother hobbled her way over to inspect the injury as the man lay stoically still. The guards kept a close watch as the old woman looked closely at the man, glancing sideways at Inzillomi.
"He'll need rest. No movement, that's for certain. Not unless you want to risk further injury." Standing, she looked down at Inzillomi and the man. "Get it bandaged and keep this man still. I'll need time to find my healing bag, buried as it is in those dreadful carts."
"How much time can we expect to waste?" asked a guard irritably.
"At least an hour." snapped the old woman. "Find my supplies yourself if you feel the need to hurry me, but don't blame me when this man never walks again just because you didn't want to wait a short time."
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