Amriel flinched as the man's body thudded against the packed dirt floor of her small rustic cottage, the sound resonating through the room and mingling with the crackling of the fireplace and the distant howling wind outside. For a moment, time seemed to suspend, the air thick with tension, as if the cottage itself were holding its breath in anticipation of what would come next.
“What in all the hells?” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared down at the man now sprawled before her.
Behind him, the door banged violently on its hinges, the storm’s fury pouring into her home like a wild beast. The wind howled savagely, a frigid breath that swept through the cottage, sending a shiver down Amriel's spine. The flames in the hearth flickered wildly, their warm glow struggling against the onslaught of cold air. They leaped and swirled, casting erratic shadows that writhed and twisted across the cottage walls as if they were dancing in a frantic attempt to escape the chill. The scent of burning wood mingled with the dampness invading her space, creating an eerie contrast that heightened her unease. Instinctively, she stepped back, her heart racing as her eyes darted between the stranger and the tempest outside, torn between fear and curiosity.
Meeko, on the other hand, did not seem to share her fear. At least not entirely. The large forest cat, who had stood with his back arched and fur ruffled protectively between Amriel and the stranger, ceased to growl. Curiosity took over and the cat cautiously approached the unconscious stranger and sniffed him from a distance. Amriel held her breath, half expecting Meeko to retreat, but instead, he crouched closer, driven by an instinct she couldn’t quite share.
I have to shut that door, Amriel thought, torn between the urgent need to secure her home from the storm and the fear that gripped her heart. Her eyes now flicked between Meeko's cautious investigation and the door that banged against the wall with a furious rhythm. But what if he's not really unconscious? What if he's only trying to lure me in?
The cottage, already cramped, now felt even smaller with the man's considerable form sprawled across the floor. She noted the breadth of his shoulders and the long limbs that seemed to stretch into every corner of her home. Even as he lay there, she could sense his strength, and the thought of him suddenly awakening sent a shiver down her spine. What if he reaches for me? The realization that he could easily grab her in an instant paralyzed her with indecision, leaving her trapped between instinct and fear.
Her blade still gripped tightly in her trembling hand, Amriel carefully stepped around the man sprawled on her floor and moved to shut the creaking door. With a resolute push, she sealed off the savage storm outside, blocking the relentless gusts and heavy rain from invading her small sanctuary. Just as she leaned into the door, a sharp, piercing whistle sliced through the air, sending a jolt down her spine and causing her already racing heart to skip a beat.
Meeko practically leaped out of his spotted fur, his body arching in alarm as he let out a low, warning growl.
For a moment, Amriel was frozen, her senses heightened as she struggled to identify the source of the sound amid the chaos. It took a heartbeat longer than it should have for her to realize that the sharp whistling was coming from the kettle she had placed over the fire earlier. The piercing noise grew louder and more insistent, a frantic call that competed with the wind's howl and the crackle of the flames, assaulting her ears and pulling her from her daze.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she cautiously circled the unconscious stranger, keeping her blade at the ready. Each step was measured; should he suddenly reach for her, the cramped confines of her cottage would make it nearly impossible to evade his grasp. She braced herself for any sudden movement from the man on the floor.
Quickly, Amriel lifted the kettle from the crackling fire, silencing the shrill whistle with a deft motion. The steam hissed violently as she set it aside, and she welcomed the brief moment of calm that followed. With her focus now firmly back on the wounded man, she took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation settle over her like a heavy blanket.
"Ok, now what to do with you?" She gnawed anxiously on her lower lip.
Amriel approached the fallen figure cautiously, squinting in the fire’s flickering light to discern the faint rise and fall of his chest. It was a fragile rhythm, the rasping sound of his labored breaths wheezing between his cracked lips, a haunting reminder of his precarious state. Each inhale seemed to carry with it a struggle, a battle against the odds that left her feeling both helpless and determined. She knelt beside him, her resolve hardening as she prepared to do whatever was necessary to help this stranger—whatever it took to bring him back from the brink.
The voice of her mother resonated in her mind, urging her to act.
“You are a Healer, if nothing else,” her mother’s voice echoed in her head.
Alright, if I'm going to do this, I'll need to turn him over to assess his wounds, she thought.
In only a few strides, Amriel crossed the length of the cottage to her sleeping cot in the corner. She knelt down and pulled out her well-worn bedroll. It may not have been the most comfortable, but it would provide him with a warmer alternative to sleeping on the cold floor until morning.
She laid the bedroll beside the man, positioning it carefully between his prone form and the crackling hearth, where the flames danced with life. Steeling herself, Amriel moved to the opposite side, her hands trembling slightly. Carefully, she untied the drenched cloak from his shoulders and tossed it aside.
Summoning all her strength, Amriel groaned softly as she maneuvered the big man onto his back, rolling him gently onto the bedroll. The motion required a surprising amount of effort, but she managed it with careful precision, her heart racing as she settled him into a position that would give her better access to his wounds. As she looked down at him, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps she could help him.
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The man cried out in pain as she moved him, but remained unconscious.
"Nothing if not a healer," Amriel muttered aloud to herself.
She knelt beside the man, her heart racing as she carefully placed her blade down on the bedroll next to him. Meeko prowled nearby, his posture tense, every muscle in his body coiled with anxiety as he watched her intently, his golden eyes flickering between the stranger and Amriel.
The mask obscuring the upper portion of the man’s face made it impossible to gauge his eyes for any hint of consciousness or movement. With a steadying breath, she reached out, sweeping back his long, thick dark hair, which was plastered against his forehead by the rain. As she gently brushed it aside, her fingers tingled with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
What she revealed was a face she immediately recognized as unfamiliar—a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a deep shadow of stubble that hinted at days without care. It struck her that he was not from this region. Not that it surprised her; very few people around here would ever wear a mask like that.
Her mind raced with questions as she continued her examination, peeling back his eyelids to reveal slightly responsive emerald eyes. His pale skin felt cool and clammy beneath her fingertips. Blood crusted around a gash on his forehead and a shallower one on his right cheek.
Who was he? What had brought him to her cottage, battered and unconscious? It's not as if she was the only healer in this area. In fact, she was one of the lesser known ones. As she worked, the storm outside raged on, the wind howling like a wounded creature, but inside, there was a fragile stillness.
She would need blankets and build up the fire to keep him warm. But first, she needed to see what damage lay beneath his armour.
Despite the trepidation swirling within her, she steeled herself, pushing aside her fear. She resolved to tend to his wounds; it was what she did, and he needed her help.
Leaning closer, Amriel inspected the cuts marring his face. They were superficial, mere surface wounds that had the potential to scar but would heal naturally without the need for stitches. Relief washed over her—these she could handle. She could make a healing poultice from lycra leaves known for their soothing properties to expedite the healing process and stave off infection.
However, as her gaze traveled down to his torso, the reality of his injuries hit her like a cold wave. The sight was alarming. Dark bruises marred the skin, and she could see the faint outlines of deeper wounds peeking beneath his clothing. They looked grave, far graver than the ones on his face. A surge of urgency flooded her veins.
"What happened to you?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as if the question could somehow wake him from his unconsciousness and coax the answers out of him.
She knew she needed to act quickly. Gathering her thoughts, Amriel forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Blood had seeped through the armor that was preventing her from seeing the extent of the injuries, she would have to remove that first.
Picking up the blade she'd put down beside her, Amriel quickly set about cutting the armor's leather strappings. Armour wasn't exactly Amriel's forte, but she knew a good blacksmith work when she saw it.
Peeling back the man’s blood-soaked armor, Amriel winced. A pair of arrows punctured his torso just above his waist. The shafts were broken off just above where they just barely protruded from his body. Blood slowly oozed from the wounds. She'd seen wounds like this before. Puncture wounds were notoriously difficult to treat. One's in the gut even more so. Fortunately, if there were such a thing in this situation, the arrows punctured him closer to the sides of his stomach. There was a chance they might have missed anything vital. Because if they had not, there was little she could do for him, save for ease his passing.
“I’m going to have to get these arrowheads out,” murmured Amriel. The fact the shaft had been snapped off made it all the more challenging.
The removal of the arrowheads would undoubtedly be excruciating. She felt a twinge of gratitude that he was unconscious, but she needed him to remain that way. He was a big man and clearly a fighter. The last thing she needed was for him to awaken in the midst of the procedure, thrashing in agony or attacking her, driven by instinct and pain. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for what lay ahead.
Even had she been able to convince Meeko to lie across the man's chest, she doubted the forest cat would be large enough to hold him down. Which left her with one option; Horissa Vharia. The gentle sleep.
"I should have enough to do the trick. I hope, anyway." Amriel gnawed anxiously on her lip.
Leaping up from her place at his side, Amriel quickly set about grinding the leaves of the Horissa Vharia plant she collected earlier. Fetching her Healer’s kit and the flask of scotch her friend Simon had left behind, Amriel padded across the cold floor with the Gentle Sleep in hand and settled once more by his side. With a steadying breath, Amriel gently pried his mouth open, placing a small amount of the green paste under his tongue. She held her breath, giving the herb a moment to take effect.
Once satisfied he remained undisturbed, she opened her healer's bag, revealing an array of tools glinting faintly in the dim light. The stopper on the flask of scotch came loose with a soft pop, and she seized the moment for a brief respite. Needing a small shot of courage, Amriel took a sip from the flask. The golden liquid burned like fire as it slid down her throat, igniting a warmth that spread through her chest. She coughed slightly as the golden liquid inside burned like fire as it slid down her throat and settled in her belly.
"How the hell does Simon drink this stuff?" she asked aloud through a gasp. "Alright, here goes."
She poured some of the liquid over her hands, the blade of her knife, and then around the man's wounds. Simon was not going to be pleased when he found out she used up most of his expensive drink. But that was for another time. To her relief, the stranger remained completely still and silent; the gentle sleep was taking effect.
Probing the wounds she was thankful to discover the arrowheads were not deep beneath the skin. She might have a shot at extracting these on her own. Of course, that would be the least of their issues if she couldn't stop the bleeding or keep any infections at bay.
Taking another sip, Amriel swallowed the burning liquid with a loud gulping gasp and set about making small cuts on either side of the arrow wounds. Peeling back the edges of the wound she stuck a finger inside to feel for any barbs. There were none.
Setting down the blade, she then picked up a pair of small pliers, treated them to the same scotch bath her blade had received, dumped the remainder of the scotch onto the man's wounds, and set about removing the arrowheads from the man’s body. She was surprised but grateful, the bleeding seemed to stem itself rather quickly. Best not to stitch closed a puncture wound she thought. If there was an infection, it would need to drain, so she bandaged him as best she could.
She washed the blood from the man's stomach and then from her hands and tools before she took a step back to assess the situation. Sleep was not going to be an option tonight. At least not for her. The man, however, thankfully remained soundly asleep. An almost peace had settled over his face and his breathing now came with steady regularity. Covering him in a blanket she gently stoked the fire and settled into her chair under her own blanket, drewing her knees up close to her chest. Resting her chin upon them, she gazed down at the man.
“Not quite the way I imagined my night was going to go,” Amriel muttered aloud to Meeko who chirped softly in agreement.