A stitch in time (Malkaren)

[Min]

The 10th day of the Summer season, 512 The light from the dancing flames flickered and leaped across the faces of those gathered about the camp fire. The contours and planes of Min’s face were one moment highlighted, the next in shadow, in constantly shifting patterns of chiaroscuro. The temperature had dropped with the sun, and though it was technically summer, the Myrian wrapped her arms about herself to pull in the heat from her slender body. The sea of grass was much more open than the steaming jungles of Falyndar, and she found the nighttimes chilly. She could only imagine what it must be like to be out here in the blowing winds of winter. But she would not be here when the snows began to fall – she would be even further north – in Syliras. It wasn’t something that she was looking forward to. What she wanted, though, wasn’t of prime importance. In a way, she did want to be on this journey – to accomplish the task set for her. Bodily discomfort was of little importance when it came to what she had been asked to do. She was just considering whether she would go to fetch her cloak, or perhaps simply go to the tent where she would sleep and roll up in a blanket and go to sleep, when there was a small commotion on the edge of the camp. Those set to watching in the dark, for the many dangers that were out here on the plains, were speaking and asking curt questions so it seemed it must be a person, rather than an animal. Min’s dark eyes turned in that direction, alert and ready to reach for her knife, though she felt that would not likely be necessary. She had her blow pipe tucked into her belt as well, but knew the night vision of the akalaks was even better than hers and she had best leave dealing with – whoever it was – to those of them in their party. So she remained seated on the ground, waiting to see or hear what was up.

[Malkaren]

Malkaren stumbled along the well beaten caravan path with both his hands trying to cease the flow of blood spewing from the three gashes on his side. Pain blurred out all his rational thoughts as he moved solely on instinct back towards civilization. Fear ebbed at his brain as he knew that it was unlikely he would survive. He knew going so far out from Riverfall into the Seas was a dangerous task but he knew that he had to gain some experience by himself without old Amantis breathing down his neck. It was hardly the first time he'd been out and run into wildlife like this but the same ill fortune that fell on that day years back seemed to follow him. He'd been moving just off the road, watching for any travelers and trying to find the tracks of some fresh game when he heard a faint sound nearby. When he found the source of the noise it took him a moment to recognize the two striped little animals and by then the mother grass bear was charging at him full speed. He managed to avoid it's fierce teeth but was punished for his slow reaction with the wound that threatened to bleed him dry. He managed to give it a few superficial wounds with his lakan before he made his escape. All hope seemed lost until he caught sight of a warm light in the distance. Making his way there with care and urgency, it became obvious that it was some kind of camp that he could only hope were friendly. He approached a few figures standing just outside the light of the nearby fire and was relieved to see a handful of akalak and dark skinned humans, perhaps Myrian. There was some bickering between one of the akalak and the human, only a few words reaching Malkaren's ringing ears. Whatever they were saying must have ended well as the two turned to him and helped him up, each giving him a shoulder for support as they carried him towards the fire, another man going to the tents and pulling out a bedroll to place near the warmth before the two put him down on it. The moment his head hit the comfort of the cloth his eyes closed as he began taking deep breathes, trying to think through the pain as the others talked to a dark skinned woman sitting not too far from him.

[Min]

She didn’t remain seated for long. One of the members of the caravan she was traveling with approached her almost immediately, speaking in excited and dismayed tones of the one who had come to their camp. He was grievously injured – wounded by some wild animal of the plains it seemed. The man had barely begun to explain before Min had jumped up and run to where several of the guides and hunters were helping an Akalak into the campsite. They were carrying him at this point, his feet barely dragging the ground, and they brought him to the fire, where someone was laying a blanket. Min knelt down beside him and began her examination, running her fingers lightly over his limbs and head, checking for wounds and injuries other than the three that were so very apparent. Satisfied that the most immediate concern were the deep slashes over the Akalak’s side and ribs, she instructed the men about her to raise his feet a foot or so with a log under his ankles, and to wrap blankets about his legs and lower body. Meanwhile, she rose and hurried to her tent and fetched out her medical kit, retuning to the fire and her patient. Her long, slender fingers gently probed the wounds, very carefully, to gage their depth and whether any life sustaining blood vessels had been compromised. As she bent close to look by the light of the fire, she asked that oil lamps be lit and brought to provide more lighting. It was clear the wounds had bled profusely, but she breathed a bit easier when she saw that it was predominantly flesh that had been rent – by sharp claws, from the appearance of the wounds. When she was satisfied that no major arteries or veins were lacerated, and that very thankfully none of the Akalak’s organs seemed to have been injured, she reached for the hot water she had asked for, and an astringent liquid soap she had made from Hissop, Cloves, Rosemary and Paperbark, which she poured into the water from a small bottle she withdrew from her pack. With a clean cloth, she carefully wiped away the blood and dirt on the torn skin and flesh, until the debris was gone. As she did so, her eyes flicked to the Akalak’s face, and she considered that it was hard to gage the state of shock he might easily be in, given that his skin was so very dark. It was clammy though, and so she hurried as much as was safe to. When she was done cleaning the wounds, she reached up and pulled one eyelid gently open, checking first one pupil, and then the other. They were equally dilated, and she could tell he was quite conscious. In a low voice, she said to him in imperfect, heavily accented Common, “You stay, yes? Stay with me – do not go to spirit world. Not now. Later, you can sleep. It will hurt, now. But you need to be here with me. Alright?” Min was not a healer with an incredibly sympathetic bed side manner. But she did acknowledge the helpfulness of putting a patient at ease, if she could. And sometimes conversation was a good distraction, from the unpleasant things she often had to do. So she bothered to ask, “What is your name? I am Min, from Taloba.” She placed her hand on his muscular chest and repeated, “Stay with me. You will live, yes?”

[Malkaren]

The warmth from the fire was pleasant compared to the cold he had been dragged out of but he could feel sweat on his brow, unsure of whether it was from the being placed near the fire or if he was already catching wind of a fever. He lifted one hand and wiped his brow with the unsoiled back of his hand before reapplying to the ruined part of his shirt where the wound lay. Moments later he heard footsteps approach again though it sounded as if it were only a single person and their footsteps were far lighter than the men who had helped him into camp. He felt the light touch of fingers across his arms, then his legs and finally his face. He made little reaction to it as he was already braced for the expected pain that was common with most any healing treatment. None came however and before he knew it he could hear the same footsteps leaving him again. The figure came back quickly and wasted no time agitating the wound further with their fingers. Malkaren took a short intake a breath, his body tensing as he braced through perhaps the worst of it. The stranger didn't take up too much time with this and the pain was quickly replaced with a far less intense stinging and the feel of moisture from a source other than his own lifeblood. The cleaning of the gashes was fall less agonizing, allowing him to relax some as he let the healer do their work. Eventually the person decided to pluck his eyes open as they worked, giving him a chance to see who his savior was. What his eyes saw for the short time each was open was the face of a dark skinned young woman who was diligently on his injured side. After she was done checking his eyes he cracked his eyes open of his own will as he looked up at the starry sky that hung over their heads as he felt his breathing starting to slowly settle before he craned his neck to look up at her. She had begun speaking to him in a heavy accent he was unfamiliar with but her words were familiar enough for him to understand. He stared at her as his mind struggled momentarily to make thought into words. "Malkaren," he finally managed to state dryly, coughing lightly a few times and irritating his wound some as it caused him to move slightly before he managed to settle again. "I am Malkaren of Riverfall. As for me living, I suppose that's up to you at this point, Min."

[Min]

The Akalak gave her his name and then added that his life seemed to be in her hands. To this Min shook her head firmly in the negative, a short, swift movement. “No, Malkaren. You must fight, too. I heal. You fight, for life. Together.” She had seen it many times, over the years. The Myrians were a tough lot, and a race that lived life in extremes, though it might be said they did not ‘value’ life, as in holding the lives of others sacred. But most of them would cling pretty tenaciously to it, through hard times or illness or severe injuries. There were a few, however, that let their condition defeat them. Those whose wills were weak, their spirits timid – or so Min thought. For those, it made her job harder, as she seemed to be fighting a force that was not hers to touch – the soul – the burning essence inside that made a man or woman want to keep going. She had lost patients because of this – patients who gave up, basically. And conversely, she had seen minor miracles occur – people she thought sure were ready to cross over to the next life and yet they hung in there, and fought, with every ounce of will they had. Malkaren’s wounds would heal. The most dire aspect of them right now was blood loss – if he had not found their camp he might easily have bled out before reaching the city, though it wasn’t very far. But she was getting ready to remedy that threat, and she had every confidence that she could do a good job of it. Then, the threat would change to that of infection. If septicemia and gangrene set in, he could die. Again, though, if she did her job well and he was watched carefully, she thought she could prevent that from happening. His wounds were in a part of the body that had good circulation, which could be a blessing or a curse. Gangrene was less likely than it would be in a limb, but septicemia would spread more quickly from this central location – and amputation would not be an option. And in her experience, Min had found that a patient’s inner strength could be just as important in these battles. Wanting to live – really fighting for it – could make the difference, regardless of her own skills and efforts. This was what she had meant – that she and Malkaren both would have to work to make sure he survived. She patted his chest once more, taking in the dark hued skin that had come as such a shock to her when she had first laid eyes on the Akalaks of Riverfall, a week prior. Her people had skins of many hues, but all in shades of tan and brown and copper. These colorful giants were – amazing, in a word. Malkaren’s skin looked black in the poor lighting but every once in w while when he had moved restlessly, the firelight had caught a dip or curve and she could tell his skin was a very, very deep, dark blue. Amazing. “We begin,” she said simply, giving him a look of encouragement with her dark eyes. Reaching into her pack once more, she extricated a small glass vial containing a tincture of licorice leaves that she had prepared. Slowly, she dribbled the liquid over each wound, the leaves of this plant having a known affect of keeping out the poison of infection and also acting as a coagulant. If the administration of the oil caused pain to her charge, she didn’t allow that to distract her. Rising, she moved to the fire, withdrawing a long, thin, rather flexible bone needle from a small leather folder, Carefully, she held the end in a flame, letting it heat for a few seconds. Then she did the same for the other end. Returning to the patient, she withdrew a length of thread from that same pouch – thread fashioned from extremely fine filaments of a plant that grew in the jungles of Falyndar. Deftly, she threaded the needle and ran the filament through a drop of the licorice tincture, to coat it. Now she was ready to begin what would be a lengthy job, though she would be as quick as she could be. With a steadying breath, she looked down at Malkaren again briefly, and then her eyes went to the first wound she would attend. The ripped remnants of his shirt had already been removed from his chest and side, before she had cleaned the wounds, and clean bandages placed over them as each one had been washed so very carefully. Removing the already soaked one over a gash right below his last rib, Min wiped away the excess blood and held the flesh together at the medial end of the four inch long laceration. Skin is surprisingly tough, but she had much practice with suturing, so she easily pushed the sharp thin needle through both sides of the wound, pulling the thread through. Then with nimble fingers she tied the last bit off with the longer section still attached to the needle. One quick flick of a razor sharp little knife that she kept in the same suturing kit and the stitch was done – all of it having taken no more than 15 seconds. Without looking at Malkaren’s face, to see how he was handling this, she moved right on to the next stitch. He was an Akalak – she assumed he was well able to withstand whatever pain the stitching caused.

[Malkaren]

Malkaren's brow knit tightly together as his mind fought to think through the pain and her strange accent as he fought to understand what she was saying and by the time he spoke in return it had been several seconds after she had gone back to work again. "Then you have my word that I won't give up for a moment as long as there is a chance." His lips began parting again as if he had more to say but the new discomfort brought on by yet another liquid pouring in his cuts made them push back together but aside this he showed few other signs of pain. Knowing that his swimming mind would rather focus on the pain as soon as it was presented, he did what little he could do and began watching Min and her work carefully. As she approached the fire to heat the needle she had pulled out he could make out a lot more of her features even from his uncomfortable angle. While still dark in comparison to the skins of other humans, Min's looked much lighter and smoother than what he could make out of the men watching her work from a distance. Both her body and face appeared youthful which came as something of a surprise for him as he thought of his patiently and calm she worked. She didn't hesitate to help him or worry over the severity of his injuries for even a moment and despite a few comforting looks in her brown eyes she had yet to smile even once as she focused in on her work. Nobody in Riverfall would suspect she was this skilled a healer simply from looking at her. As she came and rested back next to him again with needle in handle, he found himself realizing he had ignored what she had gotten up to do until the moment he spotted it in her hands. He didn't speak a word when he did, instead taking a deep breathe through his nose as he watched her hands work swiftly. He managed to get through the stitching of the first wound without any noise or visible signs of pain as he focused on the needle that she pushed through his skin with so little effort. If anything his mind was focusing less and less on his own pain and more on just her incredible skill. He'd been stitched a few times before for much less serious injuries, Master Amantis being the most common one, and often their needlework was sloppy but effective at what it was needed for. This woman's work was not only clean and quick but easily help up compared to all the times before this one. "You're very good at this, Min," he stated in a strained, his cold grey eyes looking up at her face as he read her look of absolute focus. It was all he could manage to squeeze out before she began work on the next one, bringing anything else he could have said to a grinding halt in a split second.

[Min]

In response to his pledge that he would do his part, Min had merely nodded her acknowledgement of his words. From that point on she was all business, and Malkaren did indeed do his part, remaining still with never a murmur of protest, and no flinching. Min was used to the stoicism of the warriors of her own race, so she simply continued on with her job. Only a baby or a child would have complained, but she did know – she was causing him pain. It was necessary, though. She was aware too of his focus on her, but that too was typical. It would help him work through the pain, if he had something novel to concentrate on. She assumed he might find her as unique as she found him. Myrians were not very prone to leaving their jungle home and traipsing about the world, though some did, of course. So she worked as he watched her work, hoping in a vague way that the rarity of her kind would be of some small help in this whole process. Twenty stitches in all she placed in that first wound – an elapsed time of about seven minutes – and that one was done. She had to pause frequently to wipe away the blood, from both his wound and side and her own fingers. The needle and thread grew slippery too with the slick red life force, but her fingers did not falter. When the first wound was closed up, she did not hesitate but made to move right on to the second one. His words stayed her hand not at all, but she did hear them and she said in a low voice, “My people are not the followers of Rak’keli. My skill is small. In your city, you will go to a Rak’keli healer. They will heal you better – easier – for you. But first, I will make sure you live to return to your city.” She nodded in affirmation of her own assertions – her talents were primitive, compared to one marked by the goddess. But there were very few Myrians who had attracted the attention of that deity, so here, now, this Akalak would have to make do with her profane talents. Her hand and attention moved on to the second wound. This one lay higher on the ribs, and the long, slender bones had done their job well, protecting the precious inner organs that lay beneath. But part of this laceration ran right between two ribs and was thus deeper than if it had simply raked over their surface. It was this part of the wound that needed stitching, and Min set to, placing the thread carefully to make ten neat stitches. She knew the strain of the tender flesh being poked and pinched and pulled back together would be telling on the Akalak, but she couldn’t let that affect her work, or her speed. Stopping the bleeding was paramount, comfort was a far distant, or maybe nonexistent, factor in what she did. She paused, switching her gaze back to his face. Noting beads of sweat on his brow she reached to touch her palm there. He was warm, and that was both good and bad. A patient in shock would be cold and clammy, so warmth was preferred. But too warm and he might already be developing a fever. It was early though for the results of an infection to be felt, so she hoped that he was merely warm from the fire and the blankets doing their work. After she was done, she would make sure he was more comfortable. She looked into his odd, pale eyes and asked quietly, “You are alright, Malkaren? You stay with me.”

[Malkaren]

The pain from the woman's needlework began to wane and dull as time dragged on to the point that the Malkaren no longer felt the need to keep his body so tensed, letting out a deep breathe halfway through her finishing working on the first wound. The mild shift didn't seam to mind her and it wasn't long until the aching of his side and the constant stabbing of the needle became bearable enough to tear his attention away from. His heart and mind had finally calmed down as the rush of adrenaline from his earlier encounter was finally flushed from his system, allowing his body to truly relax as he lay back with his eyes moving between her hands and face. Her pace didn't slow for even a moment as she pushing the sharp point through his skin over and over again with great precision, making quick progress despite the size of the claw mark. More often than not it was her face that caught his attention as he began noticing all the little things. The simple color of her eyes and the determination in them as she worked looked so strange together, seeing something so simple and another so amazing being one in the same. Min was as a whole far more exotic than most of the women one saw in Riverfall, almost the polar opposite of the fair and visibly tame konti he was so use to seeing. She a wild look to her with an expression that rarely ever changed from it's look of intense concentration as she worked. It was obvious that she was well disciplined despite her assurance that others were far more skilled. Despite being unblessed, it was obvious she had a wealth of skill. He found himself so distracted between the constant pain stabbing him in the side and looking his savior's face over that it was a surprise when her hand suddenly pressed against his moisture covered brow. He showed little sign that he was surprised by the touch other than a quick blink though he found it quickly relieving as her cool hand felt reliving on his warm skin. When she asked if he was well, he nodded ever so slightly and spoke in a weak but firm voice. "I'm fine. I won't die from something as simple as this. Not if I can help it." He turned his head up towards the sky again as to not strain his neck."You have my word that as long as I'm in your care, I will not pass on. You have my solemn vow."

[Min]

For the first time since he had come into her care, Min smiled. It was a small, fleeting thing, but his words had brought at least some relief to the tension of the past minutes. “No, you will not die. Thank you.” She was mocking him, but only very slightly and in a teasing way. It was a good sign, that the Akalak had the determination to get through this. And though he might easily have bled out, he hadn’t, and now she could see to it that he returned to Riverfall ready to begin the journey of recovery. But there was still work to do to make that happen. It was time to attend to the third laceration, which was lower than the first, right over the hip bone. This one might present its own worrisome feature, because Min could see the wound went as deep as the bone itself. There might just be some compromise of the bone and if small chips or flakes were floating about loose in there, it could cause infection to set in. So once again, she flushed it well with the astringent solution and she had a man hold a lamp quite close over the wound. Gently she pulled the edges apart, and peered as best she could, probing ever so gently with the tip of the needle. But it was just too dark. Sitting back on her heels, Min made a decision. This lower wound wasn’t bleeding so very much. It was only about two inches in length and the Akalak was so lean and conditioned there hadn’t been much flesh right in this spot to bleed profusely. She cleaned it once more, and then applied a clean bandage, securing it loosely. She would examine it again come the dawn, and in all probability, would not stitch it up, preferring to let what just might lay within work it’s way out in a more natural way, instead of sealing it inside to fester. She felt she should explain this to Malkaren, so he would know why she didn’t sew this wound up as well. She gave him a direct steady look. “This wound, it is to the bone. I can not see if there are small pieces of bone in there. I will leave the wound open. Tomorrow, with daylight, I can see better. Tonight, a bandage only.” Min patted his shoulder. “Now, done. No more stabbing.” She held up the needle to indicate that she was done stitching. She finished up this preliminary work of acute wound care by cleaning his side and chest and applying loose bandages to the upper two wounds. When she was done – all of it having taken about half an hour, start to finish, she took another blanket handed to her by one of the guides and laid it over him, her hand coming to rest on his upper chest. Her fingers fussed with the edge of the blanket and she said only, “Done. Do not sleep. You must drink.” She had already set a mix of ground centella leaves to steep in hot water. The plant was known for its strengthening effect for those who had been wounded as this warrior had been. Straining it, she poured it into a cup, beckoning to the man who seemed to have assigned himself as her assistant to hold Malkaren’s head up a bit. She leaned forward and held the cup carefully to his lips. “Drink,” she commanded.

[Malkaren]

As the healer finished with her stitching for the day, Malkaren let out a sigh soft of relief at knowing the pain was going to be put to the side for the time being. When the drink was offered he didn't stop to ask what the brew was or or pull away from it, leaning his head forward and downing a few hot mouthfuls greedily. His eyes closed for a moment as the drink went down his throat without actually tasting the drink as he was just relieved to have something to wet his throat. The assistant tried to lay his head down carefully but he merely brushed his head by his hands and plopped back on the bedroll, ignoring the discomfort his side gave him from the brash action. He didn't show any sign of the irritation as he faced the sky, looking at her from the corner of his eye as he began to speak with his voice much less raspy. "Thank you. Words can't express how indebted I am to you."