Chapter 4 #2
The pain in his side pulsed again, and he turned his attention inward, assessing the damage.
The wound was deep, but it had been treated.
The bleeding had stopped, and while the injury was far from healed, it wasn’t actively killing him anymore.
But there was an odd heat radiating from the wound that might indicate an infection.
His wing was worse. The membrane was torn, and at least one of the bones was fractured. He wouldn’t be flying for weeks, maybe months, assuming the damage could heal at all. His wing was also unusually hot.
She treated my wounds.
Why? The question kept circling back. She had no reason to help him. He had destroyed her equipment—he remembered that now, the large metal structure that had seemed threatening in his disoriented state. He had attacked first, and she had every right to leave him to die in the storm.
But she hadn’t.
“Look.” She ran a hand through her dark hair, a gesture that seemed to signal frustration. “I know you can hear me. I suspect you understand at least some of what I’m saying. I’m not asking for your life story. I just need to know if you’re going to try to kill me when you feel better.”
He suspected she was asking for reassurance.
He opened his mouth to respond and was interrupted by a cough that tore through his chest and sent fresh waves of pain radiating through his body.
The sound was wet and gurgling, and when he pulled his hand away from his mouth, his palm was speckled with dark blood.
Internal damage. The explosion did more than break the surface.
She was on her feet instantly, moving towards a collection of supplies in the corner of the room. She returned with a small device that she pressed against his chest, watching a display that faced away from him.
“Internal bleeding. Damn it.” Her voice was tight with something that might have been concern. “I’m not a doctor. This is beyond anything I’m equipped to handle.”
She was talking to herself more than to him as she gathered equipment and muttered comments. He watched her work, noticing the way her fear never quite overwhelmed her competence.
She is a survivor.
The observation felt important, though he couldn’t say why.
“Even with the painkiller, this is going to hurt.”
She was back at his side now, holding something that looked like a needle attached to a tube, and gestured towards his chest. He understood she intended to drain the fluid that was building in his chest and relieve the pressure on his lungs but understanding didn’t make the prospect any more appealing.
He could stop her. Even injured, he was stronger than she was. He could grab her wrist and prevent her from touching him.
But he didn’t. He nodded again.
She swabbed something over his ribs, something that made his scales tingle and go numb, then inserted the needle between his ribs.
He lay still, gritting his teeth against the pain and watching her face as she worked.
Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and her hands were steady despite the fear he could still smell beneath her composure.
I trust her.
Trust was not something you gave lightly.
It was something you gave your clan, your people.
The trust that the ones who slept beside you would wake when you woke, would fight next to you, and would not abandon you to the cold.
But his people were gone now. He could feel that truth like a hole in his chest, deeper than any physical wound.
He was alone in a way he had never been before, surrounded by nothing familiar, with only this strange small female for company.
I have no one else to trust.
The thought was bitter. True, but bitter.
She finished her work and sat back, examining the results. Dark fluid had begun to drain from his chest into a container she’d attached to the tube, and he could already feel his breathing becoming slightly easier.
“Better?”
He looked at her. She was exhausted. He could see it in the shadows under her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands, the way she kept blinking as if fighting to stay awake. How long had she been working on him? How much of her own resources had she expended to keep him alive?
She has nothing to gain from this. Why is she helping me?
He couldn’t understand it. In his experience, creatures didn’t help each other without reason. There was always a motive, always an exchange, always something to be gained.
Unless she simply couldn’t bear to watch another being die.
Foolish. Dangerous. Admirable.
He was too tired to sort out which of those adjectives felt most appropriate.
The storm howled outside, shaking the walls of her shelter, and he felt the floor shift slightly beneath him. The structure was damaged, and every gust of wind seemed to stress it further.
“You need to rest.”
Her voice cut through his observations. She had moved away from him, settling into a chair near the wall where she could watch both him and the storm. Her posture was still tense, even though her eyelids kept drooping.
She doesn’t trust me enough to sleep. Smart.
He should stay awake too. He should keep watching her and assessing the situation, planning his next move. But his body had other ideas. The pain was fading to a dull throb, probably some effect of whatever she’d given him, and exhaustion was pulling him under.
When I am healed and the storm ends. Then I will decide what to do with her.
The thought felt hollow, even to him. He didn’t want to do anything with her. He wanted to understand her, this strange female who had saved a stranger’s life, who had tended wounds she wasn’t sure how to treat, and who sat watching him with tired eyes and steady hands.
He wanted to know why.
But that question would have to wait. His eyes were closing despite his best efforts, and the darkness was rising up to claim him again. The last thing he heard before sleep took him was her voice, soft and low, speaking words he couldn’t quite understand but soothed him anyway.