Sinking into Sunlight #3
“Alright, we’ve hit the part of the day where I drag you to the hospital by your good hand,” said Aries.
“I’m fine. The bleeding’s mostly stopped.”
Aries frowned. “You look like you lost a duel to a butter knife.”
Collin delicately pulled away the fabric, wincing. “At least I looked good doing it.”
Aries shook his head, tugging on Collin’s elbow. “You’re pale and currently wearing your waistcoat as a bandage.”
“Let’s compromise—what if I limp dramatically and you feel heroic?”
“Perfect. I’ll tell them I carried you uphill both ways. Let’s go, tragic hero.”
Collin trudged uphill, each step heavier than the last. Whether it was the heat or the blood loss, his head was swimming.
He kept firm pressure on his palm; the throbbing had dulled, but blood still trickled steadily down his wrist. He could butcher a stag without blinking, but the sight of his own blood never sat well.
They finally reached the welcome shade of the trees, and a sliver of relief slid over Collin’s shoulders. The air was still stifling, but at least the sun wasn’t gnawing at the back of his neck. They pressed on toward the main road.
Chroma’s town square shimmered like a mirage—quiet, bleached by heat, nearly deserted. A few villagers loitered in the shaded stalls, their faces unreadable. No one spoke. No one asked questions. As Collin and Aries limped past—sweaty, stained, and sore—no one so much as blinked.
The hospital doors opened to a rush of cool air, sharp and clean.
Collin exhaled without realizing he’d been holding his breath.
Inside, the light was soft, filtered through heavy curtains that covered the tall windows, muting the harshness of the world outside.
It was like stepping into a quiet pool—still, forgiving.
Footsteps echoed lightly on the polished floor, and then River appeared—bright-eyed, his expression lifting when he saw them. He wore the deep green uniform of a civil servant, sleeves slightly rolled, as if he'd been mid-task.
“Good afternoon, lads,” he called, his usual easy grace in place—until his gaze dropped to Collin’s bloody hand. The smile faltered.
River stepped forward quickly, motioning them inside. “Looks like you had a rough one. What happened?”
"I’m better at catching knives than catching dinner,” Collin mumbled.
River led them farther into the quiet, sun-dimmed hall. As they passed one of the narrow beds, a familiar figure perched at the edge, looking pale and slightly wilted.
“Uriah,” Aries bellowed, his voice echoing down the corridor. “Why are you in here again?”
Uriah looked up at them with tired hazel eyes, lashes thick and dark against his flushed cheeks. A mop of chestnut hair curled damply around his ears. He gave a small, apologetic smile before answering in a voice rough with exhaustion. “My cough came back. I’ve been keeping Nic up all night.”
As if on cue, he was overtaken by a violent fit of coughing, doubling over with a wheeze that made Collin wince.
The brothers, Nic and Uriah of Stargazer Creek, were longtime friends who might as well have been family.
Though the two shared the same dark hair and broad build, Uriah always struck Collin as softer somehow.
Gentler. He was the quieter of the pair, and lately, it felt like the weight of sickness was always hanging on him.
"Nic has to sleep in the sitting room because Uriah can’t stop coughing," River added. "Their mother asked Doctor Fol to give Uriah a much stronger treatment, but Fol is worried that the potent concoction will do more harm than good."
Uriah nodded vigorously. "Yes, the stronger the treatment, the worse I seem to feel everywhere else.”
Collin smiled encouragingly. “Well, look at you—milking a cough for a private room and all the nurses at your beckon call. Remind me to fake my own death next week just to keep up.”
River rushed Collin away while Aries remained with Uriah, cheering him with the latest news from the fish market.
When they reached the far end of the hall, River gestured to a chair. He circled briskly to the other side of the table, tugged open a curtained window to let in the afternoon light, and cracked open a large medical box. Its hinges groaned like warning bells, and Collin stiffened.
River gently unwound the blood-soaked fabric from Collin’s hand, fingers deft but cautious. He leaned in to examine the wound, his brow already furrowing.
Collin couldn’t hold back a wince as the congealed blood and cloth was peeled away from his open wound. "So, doctor, will I lose the hand?"
River gazed thoughtfully at his patient’s injury. “I do believe I can save your hand, Collin. It’s your lucky day! If Charlie were here, he would take a saw to you without a second thought.”
“Please, stop!” Collin cringed as the vivid image flooded his imagination, making his stomach roll over and over again.
River chuckled, shaking his head, his emerald eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. He pressed a damp cloth to Collin’s hand, gently wiping away the dried blood. As the wound was cleaned, a deep gash emerged—ugly, angry-looking.
“Hold still,” River murmured.
Collin braced himself as River dabbed on a thick brown ointment that smelled earthy and sharp, like damp wood and riverbanks. The paste stung at first, a flash of heat, but then the pain ebbed into a cool tingling that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Waterweed root. His grandfather used the same stuff for scrapes and splinters when they were boys—he and Aries had practically been coated in it every summer. The smell was strange and comforting all at once.
After a minute or two, River wiped the ointment away. From the medical box, he pulled out a slim packet of needles, each one gleaming in the light like tiny threats.
Collin swallowed hard. His heart kicked into a faster rhythm.
He hated needles. Especially when they were heading straight for him.
River, calm as ever, chose one and cleaned it with practiced ease. He threaded it quickly, then gave Collin a soft, reassuring smile—one that didn’t quite make the needle look any smaller.
And then it began.
The first puncture made Collin’s whole arm flinch.
Every stitch after that was a new shock, a fresh jolt of pain.
The tug of thread drawing the skin together, tight and foreign.
It turned his stomach. The only thing that kept him grounded was watching River’s hands—so sure, so steady, the thread moving with a rhythm that was almost graceful.
How did River make something so awful look easy?
“Remember to breathe,” River said gently, not looking up.
Collin blinked. He hadn’t even noticed he was holding his breath. He pulled in air—shaky at first—then again, deeper. The weight in his chest loosened.
A few heartbeats later, it was over.
“Are you coming to the bonfire, River?” Collin asked as the three of them stepped into the golden heat of late afternoon, backs to the hospital door.
River hesitated. His smile faded just slightly, and a shadow flickered behind his kind eyes. “I don’t think so. I’ve got things to do at home—my father’s expecting me early.”
“It’ll only be a few hours,” Aries said, grinning. “You can’t miss my rematch with Arion.”
River chuckled but didn’t turn. He pushed the door open with the bottom of his foot. “Wish I could. But good luck. I hope Arion doesn’t embarrass you too badly.”
And then he was gone, swallowed by the shadowed hall. The door thudded shut behind him.
The trees thinned, and suddenly the forest opened into light.
Collin stepped into the clearing, heart quickening.
The bonfires were already roaring—great towers of flame that lit up the night and sent curls of smoke drifting into the star-swept sky.
Music threaded through the warm air, bright and insistent, layered with the sounds of laughter, clinking cups, and feet pounding out rhythms in the dirt.
The whole place hummed with life. People from villages all across the range moved through the firelight—dancing, shouting greetings, collapsing in the grass with their arms around old friends.
The smell of charred wood and roasted meat tugged at his hunger, but it was something else that tightened in his chest. A restless, hopeful flutter.
Somewhere out there in the golden blur of bodies and sparks—Dragonfly.
He scanned the clearing without meaning to, already searching.
As Collin and Aries wove their way through the gathering crowd toward the central bonfire, they passed a semicircle of young women clustered near the edge of the clearing.
Their voices lifted in delicate laughter, hands fluttering like silk fans.
These were not ordinary village girls. Clad in embroidered shawls and finely stitched sashes, they were members of the Daughters of Venus—a prestigious dance collective whose exclusivity was whispered about with both admiration and envy.
Daughters of stewards, head captains, and councilmen, these girls were polished by private tutors and etiquette instructors.
Their poise was practiced. Their smiles, rehearsed.
Amongst them stood a few more familiar faces—girls Collin barely knew but recognized by name and lineage. Their elegance seemed effortless, but it came from lives steeped in refinement and resources that he could never dream of.
As the boys passed, the entire group bloomed with sudden attention.
Laughter brightened. Eyes lingered. Several girls batted thick lashes or tucked stray strands of hair with choreographed coyness.
Aries, ever the showman, returned the attention with a grin and a nod to each, playing the part with ease and delight.
His charm flared brighter under an audience.
Collin barely glanced their way. His mind was elsewhere—on a girl who didn’t wear social masks or rehearse her laughter. The kind who would never surround herself with powdered approval or flirt just to be seen.
Aries jabbed him painfully in the ribs, and growled under his breath, "You’re being rude.”