My back wounds are beginning to irritate me. After Phara cleaned the wounds in the stream and wrapped them, the pain abated with sleep. She didn't allow this to be an excuse to stop training, however, and though the training was lessened in intensity it was still rigorous. The pain in my back has grown with the last three days and seeing as I can't keep still while I dream, the wounds reopen when I sleep. She cleans them every day, but if we can't find a village soon it still might become infected.

I grimace, my lips over my teeth as I squish bison jerky between them while Phara cleans the wounds of my back with rough, calloused hands. She's pouring water from a flask into the wound of my back, using a cloth to scrape away the blood and lost flesh. It stings when the cloth scrapes the skin, and the pain is sharp. The Leefir's claws went deeper into my back than I felt yesterday, the skin pulled apart and loose. Scabs have come in on the end of the wounds, but can't close them. I've never seen Phara this kind, but she cleans my wounds with care and calm, gently applying the wraps after she cleans them off as well. I spit out the jerky as I lift my arms into the air, Phara passing the linen past my chest, them wrapping it around my back, pulling it tight against my body, compressing itself against me. I've told her many times I could do it myself, but she deigns not to listen. I don't understand it- I got half mauled by a Leefir, yet she still insists that I do training every day. She dragged me to a town controlled and infested with men that could and would kill me, and makes me fight and work past every limit I have. She came close to letting the Leefir kill me, yet for all the power of the Skies she won't let me wrap my own wounds. And though I could, whenever I try to take them off or put them on they hurt too badly for me to follow through with it. The skin would stick to the linen, but somehow Phara knows how to apply and take the linen without the same pain I put myself through. 

Phara stands back and nods to herself, walks to her own bags, and tells me to grab the rest of ours. As I put our packs on my back, I remember the first time that Calkolh and I met Sariya. Grabbing the weapons belt, I remember the caravan we came in, stowed away with the merchant's stock. We had been fortunate that night and walked upon their encampment. Calkolh managed to find a way to sneak about the camp and get into the wagon. I followed him, and walking down the road I remember how scared we were, bumping into several wares and hoping that no one noticed the sound. We were fortunate that the only people around the wagon were sleeping, fortunate that the only men on watch were tired and too far to hear. I remember the face of the merchantman as he opens the tarp at the back of his wagon two days later, the shock on his face. My smile sadens as I think of Calkolh convincing me to jump him when he opened the door, assuring me that it would aid our escape. I have little doubt that I was more scared then he was as I jumped onto his face when the tarp was pulled back, flinging my limbs out from me as I fell into him. Calkolh pulled me up as we ran away, laughing the whole time while I remained scared, unable to get the moment off my mind, thinking of what could've gone wrong. Or maybe unable to simply believe I did that. As we walked, however, this soon faded from mind while we took in the city. The orange sun above it, like the one above us today that only comes the early morning, and it was illuminating the largest group of people we had ever seen. Before, we walked through villages containing fewer than a hundred or several hundred people. But this... tens of thousands of people living in a single city, walking, eating, talking. And the city was large- large enough that the people could walk with a modest amount of space, large enough that the people in the city were spaced out, so large it would take almost an hour to walk through the entire city. It was the most amazing thing we had seen; so many people in one place, everywhere we went were people. Guards patrolled the streets, no one was fighting, no one threw dirt or stones at us. We snuck around for two days, stealing food and drinks, staying alive on scraps feeling like princes. Eventually, the people noticed, guards were called when things were stolen, and we decided it was either time to move on or continue but try and remain quieter about the situation.

The townsfolk talked about a village three hours walk from Captin, and seeing as homeless children have always had a better fair in villages, as was typical, we walked there towards the end of the day. When we arrived, everyone was within their homes, and we were alone. But for Sariya, standing without the house to gather her crops. We walked to her, begging for food, the words coming out of our mouths without thought and born of repetition. And she looked at us, saw our faces, and pity took over hers like a cloud. She invited us in for dinner and gave us more food that night than we had had in the last three. She gave us seconds, gave us clothing, and rainwater for us to shower. We met Deera, Terria, and Johan. When we went to sleep that night in a room and bed, we were scared they wouldn't let us stay. Sariya was and is the only mother I've ever had. No one has cared for me the way she did. Calkolh was the only other one.

But I lost all of that, and to see that someone else is here when I saw my own brother disown me to my face... I never realized what that did to me. I never trusted her before, I just didn't care. Now I am here, walking with a woman that would have let me die but now is healing me. The first days when I felt people caring for us, people that were around us every day to help, to love... it felt good to be wanted. I don't care about it now- I don't want to be wanted, I just want to know what I want. When she wraps the bandages, I'm not sure how to take it. Maybe I should be happy, grateful. To someone, I don't know, to someone I don't understand. We've traveled for less than a month, and I've already come close to dying. Not even sure what we did it for. It almost feels pathetic now; we spend days on end swinging weapons at each other, training so that I don't die, the only person that I've met since my family left that has truly helped me... And I can't even trust her. And maybe I shouldn't, I doubt she trusts me either way. 

Sighing and letting it go in a breath, I table such thoughts for a later day. It's nothing I could fix now. Walking, Phara's staff stabs into the ground softly, her eyes scanning the road as if looking for something. I follow her line of sight but see nothing of interest. The runes on her staff stand out more, looking a different shade in the sunlight now then they were before. The darkness of the runes stands out more, enough so that I can see that they are not grains in the wood. Having no magic in Kara, enough that even the talk of it was shunned from young ages, the magic that she possesses is still awing to me, even after two weeks of travel. The only other encounter that I have had with magic besides is with the bandits that I- that I killed. Blinking and pushing it to the back of my mind, I decied to learn more. 

"How does your staff work?" Phara continues to walk at the same pace, but something in her demeanor changes. Or it may be that I am now more accustomed to her tendency to neglect to face me when I address her. She's still listening. "Is it just the runes that work by themselves?"

Phara continues to walk but picks her staff off the ground while walking, looking at it. She returns the point of the staff to the ground without breaking pace, resuming its incessant tapping. "No, the runes do not work by themselves. To use magic, you need three things at its basic form; will, a conduit, and power. The conduit is to transfer the will and power into manifestation, the will is the conviction to act on it, which in turn puts the power of your words or movement into motion. There are, however, different forms of magic and not all are as adapt to these forms as others. The runes take the conduit of the magic for itself so that you only need a will and power. To better explain, on my staff, there are the primary runes of force." She held up her staff to her side so that I could see, point at the largest rune in the center of the staff, and unclosed circle with three lines going through it, the left-most one being the longest and the right-most being the smallest. Now that I am here, I see the black runes are in distinction to the dark brown wood by only the slightest hue. "Because I am not keen to any force magic, this staff directs my will and power through the rune to create the magic without the natural talent for it. The other runes you see are to keep the power and effects of the magic stable."

"Oh." This didn't seem as complex as I thought it would become. "So the runes aren't functioning by themselves?"

Phara nods, putting the staff down once more as we continue walking. "No, they are not. There are runes that operate by themselves, but they still need power. This could come in the form of a soul gem, of any other power source that can be converted by magical energy. They are used by people who can not perform magic or Casters or Mages that wish not to waste there own energy."

I frown. Things are starting to seem confusing. "So it takes a type of person to become a Caster?"

"No. The power I've talked about only applies to certain people- anyone can muster the will, but power is found in the blood." Phara looks at me finally. "When magic is used, it is not native to most mortals. And it is not native to this plain either. Therefore, it takes a connection to the separate plain to harness magic and use it here. Using will and power is like grabbing a key, and using a conduit is as to opening the door. This is why not everyone is a Caster or a Mage."

I nod, this now making more sense as we continue. And the analogy helps. "So you're a Mage?"

Phara turns to me, frowning. "Why do you assume that?"

"You don't have any powder or dust when you use your magic, and from what we know that is what makes a Caster. Isn't it?"

She shakes her head, looking down the road again. I turn from her as well, looking across the dirt roads to the tall grasses. The path ahead goes down a small dip in the earth, unevening the flat land. I look about, seeing that in the distances the lands continue the pattern. It almost seems foreign. "I am a Caster, " Phara replies, "The difference between a Mage and a Caster is that a Mage doesn't have to use a conduit." 

Not only was that confusing, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I was hoping to find a way for Phara to teach me magic, but it doesn't seem likely. Or possible. We walk on quietly, me thinking of learning magic in this world. Onkira is a place where magic has bled through it, and though it was outlawed in our Kingdom, it's existence is well known. Tales of Gindual, The High Caster of the Heavens, have spread even into Kara. Magic is clearly one of the most powerful weapons you can wield, and beyond that, it seems so... fey. 

Raising my hands, I turn them over and around, as if I could see the power within me. But this too is fey, and maybe not of this world's nature. It doesn't feel like magic, or sound like it... what is it good for? Breathing, I let the world around me flow through me and let the power in me become known, feeling it grow heavier. 

I look back up, taking my time to slowing move my shoulders back against the straps, trying to work the pain from my back. Even now, when the skin scrapes the bandages the pain is sharp, cutting through my mind like the edge of a blade. I hope that we find a village soon. 

-

The sun is falling towards the horizon now, the winds have fallen still as the world is going towards it's darker dusken hues. In the distance, the path turns towards our left, and I find fatigue traveling fast on the heels of an expected rest. Yawning, I feel more tired with each step. We trained three times today, and for some reason when you're hurt it's a lot easier to get tired. I feel myself become more groggy as Phara starts to move to the left side of the road, me following with a grimace, as for what seems the hundredth time that day the straps of the baggage rub against the skin of the cuts on my back. A large and low tree ahead marks the fork in the left path, which is more narrow than the main road. 

As we turn, I neglect to ask her how she knows where she is going, just hoping that we can rest soon. I notice lines deep in the dirt path and realize that they are wagon ruts, meaning that people travel this path often. The further we go, the deeper into the road they become, and I'm assuming that this is what led her to take this path; a village here, hopefully, at the end of this road. As we walked the road sloped down with the land once again, and in the near distance, there's a copse of trees. And to its right, a house. I smile as I see its lit windows, smoke coming from the top of its chimney, and a gate around the house for it's plants and what looks to be three chickens. Walking down the dirt road and past the copse of trees, I see that they have grown on the edge of a small pond, near what looks like the front of the village. Past the pond in the center of the village is a well, and an old man stands in front of the first house we noticed, looking at the plants and flowers growing on his doorstep. Or at the least what is left of it. Some distance from us, directly down the road we entered on, is a large house that looks to have a pen behind it, most likely a large farm. Every house we see, which in this village looks to be about ten closely clustered homes, and ten more spaced further away, the roofs look to be made of thatch, which I imagine they can obtain plenty of from the abundant grasslands about them. In the large house down the road, a woman looks to be tending to a garden with her daughter, neither of whom have noticed us. She stands over a large plant with a bucket in her left hand, talking with her daughter too far away for me to hear. I somber as I think of Sariya, Terira, and Deera, all outside pruning plants, cutting herbs, and bringing them into the kitchen to cook for us.

I somber as I remember having a family. 

Phara nudges me in the back, flaring my wounds and telling me to keep pace, as we walk to the man standing without his house examining herbs. He is of average height, balding at the top of his head but maintaining the gray hair on his sides. He is somewhat round, but not fat, with a dark tunic that showed think arms. His brown breeches were baggy and rugged, but he looks up kindly when he hears us approach him. In his hand, I notice a dull garden knife as he turns to us with a kind and imploring demeanor. "Travelers? Ahh, would ya be likin something?"

Phara approaches him with a smile, sincerely grateful to find such a kind person. I'm sure that's what he thinks. "Why thank you, you're so kind!" See? "Skies tell, would we have the fortune to find a healer in this village?"

The man nods, smiling in response to her kindness and nature. "I, along with my wife, am a healer of sorts, though there are things beyond my jurisdiction, and I fear I know no magic. Why do ya ask?"

Phara turns to me, and the smile seems to no longer be on her face as she becomes deadly serious. How comforting. "Take off your tunic."

I feel my face pull back and scrunch up in confusion. "What?" As soon as I say it, I regret it. Somehow, I forgot she was serious. I sigh as she repeats herself, this time poking me in the back with her staff, causing me to wince as she pokes my wounds. Groaning, I remove our packs and strip off my tunic. 

.

Samantha watches, somewhat embarrassed, as the brown-skinned boy takes off his tunic. Her mother had taken interest in travelers who had just come in and dragged her reluctantly closer to meet them. However, her mother showed her true tendencies and stood back to watch, listening in on the conversation without remorse. They had just made it close enough to hear clearly when he began to set the packs he had on the ground, which proved to be about five, then began to pull his tunic over his head. He looks sullen, while in comparison the woman he is traveling with had the kindest smile upon her face. She is tanned, with long gray streaks in her hair, tall for a woman. The boy is taller than her by near a head, with a mop of tightly coiled black hair that fell just past his shoulders. Both Samantha and her mother gasped as he pulled his tunic off to show Harold the cuts in his back. Harold put down his gardening knife on the lip of the well, stepping closer to the traveler. There are three on each side, uneven to each other. And they are deep, the skin pushing clotted blood to the top between the space of torn skin, giving the image that it was still bleeding though the red blood was dry. At the very least the image was ghastly. 

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Harold, with a concerned look upon his face, stepped closer to get a better look at the wound, narrowing his eyes with concentration. He walked over to the well, dipping his fingers into the already full bucket and wiping them off. Raising his hand slightly then stopped and turned to the woman. "Do you mind?"

The boy turned around, looking at the back of Harold's head with venom and almost outrage. She thought she heard him mutter, "It's my back," before catching eyes with the nice lady, who gave her consent happily. Harold nodded, then turned to the boys back, placing his hand on the topmost right wound. "This," He said softly, "Will hurt. It won't be too bad, yet I suggest ya prepare your mind." And as the boy turned his head, his dark grey eyes caught the dying sunlight, his brown skin accented in different shades as with a somber face he nodded, clenching his first. Samantha got the impression that this wasn't the first time he would feel pain, and on a deeper level than the physical. The sorrow he conveyed in his face, his strong jaw, and smooth face made her own face flush with heat. 

Harold clasped his shoulder from behind, saying "Ay, good lad." With that, he slid his finger between the skin, breaking the dried blood and feeling into the wound. Something akin to a muffled groan, oath or shout sounded from the boys tightly pressed lips, his eyes widening before he got the chance to tightly shut them. Samantha flinched as if she could feel the pain, and her mother beside her had her hands clasped around her gardening tool, face distressed. Harold frowned, and Samantha found herself realized that it was just the tip of his finger inside the traveler's wound. Harold moved his finger to the side, feeling intently, and selecting another muffled noise from the boy.

Harold nodded, pulling his finger out of the boy's wound and pouring water from the bucket to wash his finger off, the silver hairs on the sides of his head angled to catch the light of the sun. Wiping his hand on his breeches, he talked to the woman as the boy turned around to face him, looking somewhat irritated before sighing it off and shrugging his shoulders, wincing. "I could fix ya..." He led off, face imploring for completion to the sentence. 

The woman smiled politely, supplying him helpful with an answer, the concern she had on her face from early seemingly replaced. "My nephew kind sir. "

Harold gave a soft chuckle. "An' no need to call me a sir, ma'am. The wound didn't go much past the skin, barely scraped the muscle. I could clean his shoulder some more, and do a fair job a stitchin' it as well, only my wife would do the task better. She's also got some skills in the medicine and herb area, which would take away the pain from ya nephew's back and help it heal faster. She'll be in a council meeting as of now, but when she's done with the other ladies I'm sure she'd be glad to help. We don't often get travelers, though we do get merchants. Though yet again, not often." Harold raised his hand, stopping the boy as he began to put on his tunic again. "No need to do that lad, my wife will be out soon and putting on and off that rough cotton will only hurt ya more." Harold turned back to the woman as he lowered his tunic. "Would you be staying the night at the village, Mrs.... don't think ya gave us your name ma'am."

The woman walked over, inspecting the boys back for herself. "Phara, sir, and this is my nephew Kuxalo. We will be staying the night if you have room to spare for us. We are, understandably, quite weary from the road."

"Ah yes," Harold replied amiably, "Well we do have room for that ma'am. If you would-"

"Are you the damn people that've been stealin' my family's food?" A loud voice boomed behind them, and Samantha turned reluctantly to see her father striding up, pitchfork in hand. He is a strong man, with coarse brown hair like her own, a beard and hairy arms, with a common farmer's face. While Phara remained amicable, Kuxalo tensed, stepping back towards his bags and a hand falling to his weapon on his side. 

Lucking, Samantha's mother stepped in before the situation could escalate, placing her hands on his chest to placate him. "Janob, please, these are kind people. They have just got here, how could they be stealing our livestock?"

He was too livid to listen to reason. "I don't know, but someone here has been STEALING OUR YXICIX FORSAKEN HENS AND KILLING THE DAMN GOATS!"

"JANOB!" Said Samantha's mother, and to only the traveler's surprise, slapped him. Using that word was by far too strong an oath; it was something to stake your life on. Even she was shocked by her father's vehemence. Samanthat's mother was angered, and was apperently uncaring about showing it. "Listen you fool! These kind people have done absolutely nothing, and since they walked into our village have only asked for help! I expect you to go back into the house and solve this problem with your head on straight, else wise you'll see me take a pot to your head, Skies help you!"

Samantha smirked quietly behind her hand, oddly comforted by her mother's display. Her father looked at his wife for some time, then turnd his eyes to the ground. Turning, he gave a look to Phara and her nephew that she supposed was to be apologetic, then muttered as he turned back towards the house, his pitchfork in tow. Samantha's mother watched him until he reached the door of their house, then turned back to Phara with a nervous but kind smile. Samantha found herself embarrassed by Kuxalo's calm demeanor as if it was just too much for him to care, and looked away. "I'm sorry, please forgive him," Said Samantha's mother. "Our livestock has been stolen for quite some time, and it's frustrating him to no end. It was still unfair of him to accuse such nice people of such a thing, please, he's a good man, just has been through some problems."

Phara waved the matter away as if it was no issue, for which Samantha and her mother were truly grateful. "It is fine, I don't take his words to heart! I understand the frustration he's been through- after all, my nephew can be quite tiresome!" Kuxalo looked over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowing, but Phara continued on as if she didn't see him. "As of now, we are both quite weary and would appreciate nothing more than a nice, long rest." She paused, then glanced at her nephew. "After Kuxalo is helped, of course."

Kuxalo just shook his head and rolled his shoulders back again, wincing as he did so. "I appreciate your help, and thank you for looking at me, but if we could please get to your wife now?" He couldn't seem to be still, strumming the air with his fingers as he waited for something to happen. Harold nodded, breaking into the conversation. 

"As I would have said, we have room for ya to stay in our village. I'm sure that after all of this time traveling together, you would want some time apart. We have two pools on opposite sides of the village, on for men to wash and one for women. We also have separate taverns and lodgings because of this, and I'll grab somebody to lead ya to 'em. I suppose, Mrs. Fane if you wouldn't mind leading Ms. Phara to the women's pool and tavern?"

Samantha's mother nodded cheerily, saying, "Of course, I would love too! Please, no don't bother Ms. Phara, I'll grab the bags!" Grabbing a bag in each hand, Samantha's mother led Phara off, while Phara carried a smaller bag by herself. As they walked away, Samantha could hear here mother inquiring in an unbashful manner about Phara's nephew. 

Harold turned back to them as one of the final breezes of the day blew softly past them, rustling the grasses softly and pushing Samantha's unkempt hair into her face. Kuxalo was faced away from the wind, causing the breeze to simply blow into his back, and into the wounds on his back, making him flinch again and clench his hand. The cut had stopped bleeding on his back from Harold's inspection, and dried blood ran in a short stream down his back. Harold put a perplexed look on his face. "I would love to go with ya to the men's pool, but my wife is across the village, and it would take a bit to get there, much more to actually get here away from that damned women's council." He looked up at Samantha with mild apprehension. "Meaning no disrespect." Samantha nodded, acknowledging him. She couldn't help but agree- sometimes the woman of the council could be quite infuriating. Harold gave a defeated sigh. "I suppose if I got to-"

"I'll do it." Samantha was slightly embarrassed that she spoke up, but when she did she looked Harold in the eyes. She couldn't seem to look Kuxalo in the eyes, however. "I'll take him to the pool."

Harold nodded, then replied, "Great! This will give me time to get my wife and take her to the pool, where she can hopefully get ya all fixed up. Samantha here will take you to the pool, and ya can clean up and get settled before my wife comes to stitch ya up." Harold nodded, patting Kuxalo on the back as he walked away, saying, "Enjoy your rest, lad."

With that Harold walked off, leaving them alone. Kuxalo turned to her, holding his hand out for her to shake, and she blushed as she took it, noticing his hardened and defined core. The lean muscle on his body was more noticeable from the front, and it made it harder for Samantha to meet his eyes. "You're Samantha, right?" His mildly baritone voice was simple, calming. She nodded, then let go of his rough hand and bent to grab one of his bags. "No, no it's ok, I can carry them. Just lead the way, please."

As he slung his tunic over one arm, she led him down the village path to the pool.

.

I sunk into the water, the pool refreshing and it's coolness numbing the sting of my wound. The men's pool was a large stone bin filled with water, enough space for about fifty men, which in a town this small must be a quarter of the population. A large wood ceiling was over the entire pool, shading the area from twenty feet above, and allowing no light from the sun to filter through fro above. The walls of the pool cut off five feet from the ground, allowing the pool to retain most of its temperature and men to enter from all sides. 

Submerging myself into the water, my hair floating about my head, I wait out my pain beneath the surface, hoping that if I stay in the water long enough the pain will fade away. Samantha took me straight here and ignored the tavern and inn that I'm supposed to be staying in for the night. She also told me to wash quickly, because Serna, Harold's wife, would be coming soon. But I can't seem to force myself to stop floating languidly in the pool; it feels so nice, so relaxing, so calm. Maybe soon, I'll get up and... who's coming in. 

I resurface at the sound of footsteps and heard Samantha's kind and shy voice sound from behind me. "Hurry, Mrs. Serna is coming." I turn as she comes in, looking at her flushed and flustered face. When I meet her eyes, she blushes a deeper shade. I don't get it. When I shook her hand, she blushed, when I look at her, she blushes again. Maybe she's smitten with me, I get that, but what did I do? I've barely talked to her, why is it that now she can't look at me twice without flushing. Does she feel bad that I've gotten cut? Do I need to put on my shirt or something- is this an overly modest village? "Have you not cleaned yet? Serna won't like that."

I frown, slightly irritated at this entire ordeal, but I find not caring enough to express it. "It's hard for me to reach my back. Hurts when I lift my arms up too far, and I can't really reach my back..." As I say this, I realize how sad I sound. I'm admitting to a girl that I'm incompetent at cleaning my own back. I sigh, looking down. "It's hard." Rising before I think about it, I start to grab my towel from a distance from the edge of the pool. "I'll do it now-"

As Samantha blushes the deepest possible shade that I'm sure a human body can flush, I realize what I was doing and suck myself back into the pool in embarrassment. "It's okay, it's okay," Says Samantha hastily, walking the two steps to grab the towel herself, "I'll clean your back for you. Just ... just stay in the water." 

She walks up to me, and I turn around, uncomfortable but not sure how to get out of the situation. I hear her sit upon her knees, and then here the towel dip into the water behind me. She pushes the towel to my back, and I find myself tense, unsure, and uncomfortable. She gently rubs the towel across the skin of my back, pulling the dirt off with every stroke as the water around my turns red and brown. As she continues, I find it oddly soothing if still uncomfortable, The towel is too wet to feel rough, and Samantha is kind, the strokes soft and gentle. Every time she hits a cut I groan, but she is still kind, slowing before she wipes the skin. 

As she finishes, I hear voices outside, and she stands, putting the towel on the floor. I turn as she says, "I'll go tell them to wait for a bit as you dry off, and make sure to put your trousers on before we come in." She meets my eyes for all of five seconds before she looks away, which I think is the first time she has done so. "Hurry, Serna doesn't like to take or waste time." With that she walks away, ducking under the low wall and outside, the talking stopping momentarily as I assume she addresses them. I pull myself out of the pool, then take the large and dry towel on the floor and scrape it against my skin, drying myself off. A pool collects around me as I finish drying off my legs, then pull on my breeches. Just as I do so, Samantha, Harold, Phara, and an older woman with a girl around the same age as Samantha and I walk into the place, Phara looking me over as they approach. Skies, I see that she really doesn't like to waste her time, they nearly caught me with my breeches down. 

The older woman, who I assume is Serena, is skinny and taught, with a mother's face that has a more serious tone about her than her calm and easy-going husband. Her hair is also completely gray and frizzy, with the younger girl behind her carrying a needle, string, and bandages on one arm, and three small wooden bowls on the other. Damn, I would really hate to be stitched. Serna, waste absolutely no time,  grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me around firmly. I feel her move my hair out of the way as she inspects my wounds, fingers flitting over my back, and hear her muter and "hmm". 

She titters then says,  "Sheyrie, the boy needs a hair cut. Trim it at the least out of the way of what I have to do." She walks over to the pool, waving her hand vaguely towards the ground, saying, "There will do fine." 

As she dips her hands into the water, the girl, Sheyrie, walks up and gives an apologetic look as she places the bowls, needle, and bandages on the ground, procuring scissors from thin air. It's not the fact that Serna told her to cut my hair, but the fact that I wasn't addressed when the decision was made. Though I suppose I do need a haircut, so I won't complain. As Sheyrie cuts my hair at the shoulders, Serna continues to talk.

"We told your aunt that we were coming, seeing as I'm sure that you being her nephew and all, she would want to be here for this." I resist the urge to chuckle, instead settling for looks at Phara over my shoulder, who smugly smiles back before letting the smile fade and shrugging. I doubt she would have come if they hadn't brought her along. "Now, this will hurt. I suggest that you take the leather strip that my assistant, Sheyrie, will give you as soon as she's done cutting your hair. And bite down on it hard." As Serna turns from me, I receive the promised leather strip and place it into my mouth, the assistant backing away. Serna picks up one of the bowls, placing to fingers into it and moving to my back. Behind me, I hear Sheyrie say to Samantha, "He's not that good looking. I mean, he looks nice but..." I miss the rest as they back away, but smile nonetheless. I'm sure that I wasn't supposed to hear as much as I did. My smile leaves as Serna applies her gauze to my back, filling my mind with sharp stings as she thoroughly goes over each cut. It isn't horrible, but it certainly is painful.

When she finally finishes, I sigh. As the stings start to settle down, she wipes her hands in the water, then reaches for her needle and thread without missing a beat. Something in me drops, probably my heart, and I start to feel nervous. Serna turns to me, looking me in the eyes as she says, "This is the part where you bite down, boy." As she disappears behind me again, I heed her advice, my teeth clamping down on the leather as if I was trying to bite through. The seconds that I'm waiting seem like forever, and I can feel my apprehension growing. 

I scream inside my mouth as she pushes the first needle through my flesh, the pain flashing through my mind almost as strong as when I got the injury. And again, every time she pushes through the skin and pulls the thread tight, my eyes bulging but only my mind telling myself not to move. I'm happy everyone is behind me as the first few tears escape. I can tell she is being precise and methodical, but I wish that it wouldn't take so long to do it right. Screaming and, she finally pulls the string tight, then knots the stitch. I would swear at here, but there is a leather strap in my mouth. I'm thankful, because it may not be wise to swear at the woman who heals you. 

"Take a breath," She says, wiping off the needle against a piece of fabric, "We only have five more to go." 

-

When Serna finished her stitching, she applied another gauze to my back to numb the pain, then told me to go sleep and rest, it would heal soon. With that, she tightly wrapped bandages about me then left, her assistant in tow. Samantha followed her after looking at me, then looking away but not blushing. Phara left as well, not bothering to say goodbye, which I was fine with. When Harold led me to the men's lodging, I asked what the point was of having separate pools id anyone could enter. He responded that the women could enter the men's but not the other way around, as men are general slobs. I was too tired to debate and found that he wasn't entirely wrong so I left it alone. I don't think the village wanted to differentiate between al the men. 

When I arrived at the lodging, I paid the kind woman there for a meal, ate, then walked up to my room and threw my things on the floor. I had yet to put on my tunic, and don't care. I just want to sleep. Rolling over, I lay still while staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to take me. I was just ready for the day to be over with.