Chapter 11
DASKA
Iwoke before dawn, the way I always did.
The fire had burned low during the night, reduced to glowing embers that cast barely enough light to see by.
Around me, the pack slept in the heavy stillness that came after a hard day's travel.
Even Rivik's breathing had finally deepened into something approaching rest, though I knew he'd wake at the first wrong sound.
I rose carefully, wrapping my furs closer against the cold that bit through everything this deep into winter.
I checked the injured male first. He slept peacefully now, his colour better and his breathing steady.
The poultices had done their work. Human bodies were strange.
They were slower to heal than ours and more fragile in some ways.
A shifter with a broken leg might recover in less than one moon cycle, but humans might take double or even triple that time.
The man would need food and shelter for that time, and I assumed that was what Rivik had in mind when he’d insisted we take them back with us.
His decision had been on my mind since he’d made it.
Wolves were not known for adopting strangers.
I was the exception and although Rivik treated me no different to the rest of the pack, I would always be the lowest status, and had never quite fit it in.
We could have just left the travellers with our travel supplies, some weapons and food enough to last them, and headed back in our spirit forms. I had a feeling there was more to Rivik's decision than he was saying.
I moved to tend the fire, adding wood with careful precision to coax it back to life without creating too much smoke. The familiar rhythm settled something in my chest. This was my role. This was what I knew how to do.
Heal. Protect. Watch over those who couldn't watch over themselves.
My gaze drifted to Ellie.
She had fallen asleep in my arms as we crossed the ravine, and I hadn’t woken her.
The healer in me argued it rested her leg to have me carry her, but in truth, I had enjoyed the feel of her body against mine.
I'd carried her the rest of the way in silence, barely breathing, terrified that any wrong step would break the spell.
When we'd made camp, I'd laid her down on the thickest furs I had and arranged them around her with a care that bordered on reverence.
She hadn't stirred. Hadn't even twitched when I'd checked her bandage one final time, my fingers lingering on her smooth thigh a moment or two longer than strictly necessary.
Now she lay curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
The firelight caught the curve of her jaw, the soft mess of her hair, the shadow of her lashes against her cheekbone.
For a moment, I was distracted by that strong pull toward her in my chest, and if I was being honest, in other areas too.
Then I moved, closer, suddenly noticing the way her body was drawn in on itself in a way that spoke of pain even in sleep.
Her breathing came too quick and shallow, and even from here I could see the flush across her cheekbones that had nothing to do with warmth.
I moved the fur slightly, to press the palm of my hand on her leg.
It was hot to touch, as as I moved the furs aside, the sweet rotting smell of the blood curse hit me. My stomach tightened.
I'd been worried about this from the start. There had been so much dirt in the wound and although I’d treated the leg yesterday and applied fresh poultices this morning, wrapped it properly, but the blood curse didn't always care about proper treatment if it had already taken hold deep in the tissue. It didn’t occur often in shifters, we healed far too quickly for the cursed spirits to enter the blood, but I had seen it a few times before, usually in packs where they didn’t have a trained healer.
Once I had even seen the curse kill the wolf it had taken.
And humans were vulnerable in ways my people weren't. She was vulnerable.
The thought came with a surge of frustration, not at her, but at the situation.
At my own failure to insist on examining the wound before sleeping.
I had been exhausted from carrying her so far, and Ellie had been too.
She had barely reacted when I laid her down on the furs, and I’d let her sleep, not wanting to wake her. Now I cursed myself for that decision.
I knelt beside her and carefully peeled back the bandage, working the leather strips free with fingers that I willed to stay steady despite the dread building in my chest.
The wound looked worse than I'd feared. The edges had gone from angry red to something darker, almost purple, with streaks of heat-colour radiating outward like the roots of a poisoned tree.
The flesh around the deepest part of the gash was swollen tight, the skin shiny and hot, and when I pressed gently beside it, a thin line of yellowish fluid wept from between the torn skin.
The smell was unmistakable now, that sickly sweet undercurrent beneath the copper of blood.
The curse spirits had found their way in, burrowing deep where my poultices couldn't reach.
My jaw tightened. This was bad. Not yet deadly, but it would be if I didn't act now.
The poultices I'd been using were good for fresh wounds, for keeping the cursed spirits at bay while the body healed itself.
But once the curse was in the blood, once those red tendrils started spreading, I needed stronger medicine.
Fireweed root. Ghost moss. All supplies I had at my hearth at home, but not out here.
Ellie stirred at my touch, a small sound escaping her that made my chest constrict. Her eyes opened, unfocused and glassy, and for a moment she just looked at me without recognition. Then awareness filtered back in and she tried to sit up.
"Daska?" Her voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, and she shivered despite the furs piled around her.
I pressed my hand gently against her shoulder, easing her back down. "Shh," I murmured, the sound meant to soothe even if the words were meaningless to her. "Stay still."
She didn't fight me.
Jarak appeared at my elbow with a bone platter of cold cooked venison and a water skin. "She looks worse," he said quietly.
"She is worse."
"Rivik won't like that."
I shot him a look. "Since when does Rivik care about—"
"Since we met them. Haven't you noticed?" Jarak glanced over at where Rivik was now up and getting organised. "The way he watches her."
"He watches everyone. It's what he does."
"Not like that."
Something uncomfortable twisted in my chest. I pushed it down, focusing instead on the practical concerns in front of me. "She needs rest. Real rest, not just a few hours between forced marches. And I need better supplies."
"Tell him that." Jarak gestured toward where Rivik stood with Miska and Fen. Torin was still sleeping. He'd had the watch before and Rivik was clearly allowing him to sleep in while the others knocked down the camp.
"Ellie." I kept my voice low, gentle. Her name felt strange in my mouth. The sounds didn't flow the way our words did, but I'd practiced it quietly until I could say it right.
Her eyes found mine, hazy with fever but trying to focus. "I'm..." She said something in her language, but I caught the tone. I'm fine. I'm okay. Don't worry.
"No," I said firmly, gesturing to her leg. "Not okay."
She tried to sit up. The movement made her face go grey, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across her forehead despite the cold. She caught herself, breathing hard, and I saw the moment she realized she couldn't hide this anymore.
Good.
I worked as quickly as I could without being careless. Cleaned the wound with fresh water from a nearby stream mixed with cleansing herbs, the liquid running red and then clear. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but didn't cry out. Didn't pull away.
The damaged tissue had to come out. I used my smallest, sharpest flint, removing the dead flesh with the precision my teacher had drilled into me over years of training. She shook under my hands, her breathing coming in short gasps, but she stayed still.
Too still. She's going to pass out.
"Breathe," I murmured, even though she couldn't understand the word. I placed my free hand on her shoulder, grounding her, reminding her she wasn't alone. "Breathe. Almost done."
Her eyes focused on mine, clinging to the contact like a lifeline.
I finished cleaning the wound, applied the strongest poultice I had. She jerked when it hit the raw tissue, a small sound escaping despite her attempts at control.
"Done," I said quickly, wrapping the leg with clean bandages, making sure they were secure but not so tight they'd cut off blood flow. "Done. Good."
She sagged back against the furs, her whole body trembling with exhaustion and pain.
Sweat dampened her hair despite the morning cold, and I used a damp leather to wipe her face clean.
I made her eat, even though she clearly didn't want to.
Made her drink. Checked her temperature by pressing the back of my hand to her forehead, then her neck, feeling the fever burning through her.
I should have caught this. Should have realised how warm she was in my arms yesterday.
The thought kept circling back, accusatory. I'd been trained better than this. I knew the signs of the blood curse, knew how quickly humans could deteriorate. But I'd missed it because of how I’d been feeling having her close.
I stood, giving her a quick smile to reassure her, then walked over to where Rivik was knocking down the shelter the two strange wolf shifters had been using.
"We need to speed up," I said to Rivik. Kept my voice level, professional. "I need to get her back to my hearth."
Rivik's eyes flicked to Ellie, then back to me. Something moved through his expression too quickly to read. "How bad?"