Chapter 17 #2
Beautiful to her anyway, even in his current state.
She cooed words of comfort as the black sludge he spat up turned into yellow bile.
His heaves ebbed, and his entire body trembled.
She released her hand from his mane and wrapped him more firmly in her cloak.
Avice flicked her gaze to his fluffy chest hair and followed its singular trail down.
She studied the mingling fresh cuts and scratches, and that brutal scar.
I must ask him about that. Avice opened her mouth, determined to know, but instead she said, “I need to take you home.”
Trewoofe jolted at that, his sickly face meeting hers. “Really?”
“Yes,” she replied. “You are very ill; you will need someone to look after you while you recover. Some medicine, good foods, and a warm pallet.” She blinked after the words spilled out. God’s blood, Avice, what are you thinking? What if a villager sees a man in your home?
His face brightened. “I brought you a boar leg.”
Avice vaguely remembered tripping over it on her mad dash in and out of her cottage. “You did, thank you. That will be very helpful.”
He offered her a dazzling smile that made her heart flutter. “You are welcome,” he replied, before leaning forward and cupping his abdomen. “Urgh, I feel like there is none left inside of me… but everything aches.”
Avice leaned over to peek at where his clawed hand had settled. He was a mess – several deep cuts still oozed silver blood, and harsh purple bruises stood vivid against his skin.
“Some aid, before we make the journey to my cottage,” she said with a resolute nod. She stood and had almost forgotten Bramble was sitting obediently like she asked the entire time. “Oh, I am sorry, Bramble. I think it is safe now.”
Nature’s blessing, Avice! He bounded over. Do you know how hard it was to just sit and watch that?
“I know.” She rubbed his head, raking her grubby fingers through his fur as he closed his eyes in bliss. “You can come over, just do not touch that foul liquid the Well King vomited up.”
Bramble pinned his ears back. I was not planning on it.
Avice rifled through her medical satchel.
Miraculously, amongst all the chaos, it was still strapped to her.
She pulled out all the things she needed: linen bandages, moss, healing waters, and willow bark for the pain she knew Trewoofe felt.
She quickly wrapped her own bloodied arm, ignoring the sting as she tightened and tied off the bandage.
She turned her focus back to him, and her heart melted at the sight that met her.
Bramble had ambled over to her patient and sat next to him. The hound offered a single lick to Trewoofe’s temple. The King returned a weak smile and gave the Grim’s head a gentle pat. She blinked back tears that threatened to fall and replaced them with a bright smile as she descended on the pair.
“What is that?” Trewoofe asked warily, dropping his hand from Bramble’s head.
“It will help you, I promise,” Avice replied. “I want to clean and bind your wounds. I cannot have you bleed all over the woods on our way home.”
His lips plucked up weakly. “Alright.”
Avice peeled back her stained cloak from his body.
She tipped some healing waters into a fistful of moss and softly wiped away the blood on his torso.
Her face fell at the sight. Trewoofe’s wounds were much deeper than she had originally thought.
Usually, the water gathered from the Underneath helped heal injuries with extraordinary speed, but it did nothing for his.
It must be the iron, even if his body has expelled it, it has weakened him.
She frowned, frustration needling at her. Poor Trewoofe, he nearly died to save his Faeries, and now the waters he kept safe were not helping him at all. He winced as she dipped down into a particularly big wound.
“It hurts. I know. Let me get something for it.”
Avice gave him the damp moss to hold for a moment while she prepared the ground willow bark. She uncorked a wooden bottle of healing water and tipped in the powder. She swirled it around before placing it in his shaking hand. Trewoofe could not grip it, and it slipped. Avice caught it just in time.
“Let me help?” she asked.
Trewoofe mumbled a weak affirmative. As she cupped his chin, he opened his lips, and she poured the liquid in. He grimaced at the bitter flavour.
“I know, it tastes horrible, but it will help with the pain,” Avice reassured.
His cheeks bulged, a scowl on his face.
“Swallow it,” she ordered, “or it will not help.”
Obediently, Trewoofe gulped it down. He stuck his tongue in and out of his mouth several times, as though he were trying to rid himself of the taste. Avice’s eyes flicked to it, it was still forked, and she remembered what it felt like on her skin.
Trying to fight back the flush that travelled up her neck, she ducked her head and began to wrap his wounds with linen bandages, pulling them tight to stem the bleeding. He winced at each go around, but otherwise was a perfect patient, keeping stone still as she repeated the movement.
As Avice tied off the bandage, she formed a treatment plan in her mind: she would sew him up, neutralise whatever remnants of iron lingered in his body, then bathe him in healing waters and cook him some hearty bone broth.
She quickly repeated the process on Trewoofe’s arms. Finally, leaning back in her kneeling position, she admired her work. He was more linen than skin, and the cloak had pooled around his narrow hips, only the ripped mantle provided him any coverage where he needed it most.
Bramble had stayed by Trewoofe’s side the whole time. Avice. He turned his muzzle to the sky. It will be dark soon, and I do not want us out here while the King is so sick. The Nightly Neighbours…
Her gut twisted at the thought of them. Tall Ones on the backs of skeletal horses, known as the Dark Mounts. They were the reason why the villagers, herself included, tried to avoid going outside on Winter nights, unless it was strictly necessarily.
“Yes, you are right.” Avice nodded and stood. “We must get you home, Lord.”
Trewoofe dipped his head in agreement, and she offered him both hands, which he took. Their palms and fingers intertwined effortlessly, like they naturally fit. Together they heaved him into a standing position. Her bleeding arm throbbed with the effort, but she was determined to ignore it.
Avice froze. She looked up, and up. He was huge.
Towering over her like a tree, she barely made it halfway up his chest. Trewoofe cast her in his shadow as he leant heavily onto her.
Every part of him trembled, as if all the strength had been sapped from him.
She buckled under his mass. Her body screamed with the effort to keep them both upright.
Trewoofe was lithe and slim, but he was solid muscle and weighed far more than he looked.
“Bramble?” Avice squeaked.
The Grim stood on the other side of the King. Put some of his weight on me.
She grunted and shifted part of Trewoofe onto her familiar, who whimpered under the strain.
She tilted her chin up and squinted at him. “Lord?”
“Yes, little witch?” he replied, barely awake.
Avice smiled at his name for her; he was still with them. “We are going now. You must help Bramble and I and try your best to walk without leaning on us too much.”
He looked down at her with hooded eyes, the vaguest hint of a smile on his lips. “I am going with you?”
“Yes, you are coming home with me.”