story - part 27 - memory four - 1038 words

Pain. This memory is mostly engulfed in pain. One night spent out in the harsh winds, my back aching too much for me to move on. The only thing that keeps me from stopping, that eggs me on through the scattered woods and across flat, dusty stretches, is the thought that she could be several steps behind me. I hope I have surprised her enough that she does not yet realize I am gone, that she thinks I am hiding and nursing my wounds.

The nearest town is three and a half miles away, farther than I have ever walked before, farther than I have been on my own. The only other time I have been there, I was with a group of priests, and under her watchful eye. I know that I will not be able to take care of myself, and that I will likely get into trouble. I do not care.

Another night spent out in the woods. A gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach, exhaustion dulling my senses and confusing the world around me, sending thing skewing sideways, confusing. I realize that I have no way of knowing which is the right direction, and that I could be walking in circles. I am hopelessly lost, and have nothing to go on but faith.

Even that begins to fail me. My steps slow and my thoughts turn dark and hopeless. I second guess myself, almost certain that I have seen that tree before, that the knot on that branch is familiar, that I have seen this arrangement of rocks before. I plot wearily onward, vision blurring and thoughts turning fuzzy and unconnected.

I do not remember much of the walking. My back is still throbbing with pain, every little movement sends daggers down my spine. I pause more frequently, slumping down against rocks or trees and wait for the stars to clear from my eyes, unable to catch my breath. I sprawl out against a soft patch of dirt and drift away into restless, uneasy sleep. I dream that she is following me, that she has found me. I dream of her hands and of her smile and of her deep voice.

When I wake, I find the world has become a far more pleasant place. There are no harsh winds cutting across my back and every inch of exposed skin, there is no rough dirt beneath my hands and cheeks, I am no longer conscious of every aching nerve in my back and along my wings. Thick blankets are bunched down around my waist, and there is a thick smell of spices in the air.

Daring, I crack my eyes open. Light sears my vision, sharp and far too bright. I have to squint against it to take in the room. It is small, with walls that are bare wood and a floor that is mostly dirt. There is a fireplace in the far corner, a healthy blaze alight in it, a pot set over the flames to heat, to stew. The source of that soothing smell.

I try to straighten, to sit up and get a better look at the place, to figure out where I am and how I got there - but there is something restraining me, something heavy against my back that makes it hard to move. It is probably for my own good. The moment I move it hurts again, and doing so likely will cause more damage.

There is a stirring, from behind me, and a soothing hand is set on my shoulder. With some effort, I drag my head around to catch sight of the woman who has taken me in. She is not old, but neither is she young; she is matronly and plump, pleasant. Her hair is salt and peppered, her clothing torn and stained, her smile warm and soothing.

"Drink this, and don't move." Pushing something against my lips before I can protest, forcing me to gulp down something that is bitter, but not entirely unpleasant. It settles warm in my stomach, heating me up from the inside out.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Voice reduced to a soft whisper. I am not sure if this is because of the potion, or because of my exhaustion, or some combination of the two.

"I'm the town's physician, Doricha. I found you in the woods. We're right outside of Fereana." Something careful, planned about her tone. I wonder if she has been preparing herself to answer my questions, if she has rehearsed on her own. This drags up a sudden shock, a concern. How long has it been? How close could my mother be..?

Again, I try to sit up, and am stopped by her hand against my shoulder. A careful tilt of my head, a squint of my eyes, and I can barely make out the crude splints that have been set against my wings. She has done her best to set them, to line things up properly, but she is used to putting together simple bones. There is nothing she can do to make my wings work again, she can only aid in healing them, in taking away the pain.

There is another burst of hopelessness as I settle back down, face burying into the pillow and breath wrenching out between my teeth. My thoughts are confused again, distant and unconnected [she has given me a sleeping drought, she has drugged me]. I can only latch onto one idea at a time, and at this moment it is the fact that I will never fly again.

"I'll take care of you until you're patched up, and won't ask you any questions until you're feeling better. Right now, you need to lay still, and you obviously won't do that unless you're asleep. Young people never do." The way she rattles on is strangely relaxing, it puts me at easy. She is friendly and harmless, she is only trying to help. I can feel my panic beginning to melt away.

"You're safe, for now. Safe, and warm, and under my protection." Softer, sweeter. A motherly brush of fingers against my cheek, and then she is gone, leaving me to fade away into sleep again.