Secrets of the Fae

8

I took a few more moments to remember the proper way to breathe, and many long seconds after that to bring myself to stand and turn to face her. When I did, I was not disappointed, her eyes were fully open and they met mine instantly. We stared at each other indefinitely, it could have been centuries before I remembered that she still needed healing. I looked away reluctantly, it was past time to reassess her wounds. I forced myself to step away, I boiled water for tea, prepared additional bandages, and retrieved my medicines. I tried to keep my mind entirely blank and distant, still shocked and even a little scared of what had happened between us. My wings were safely back inside my skin and I could not process the results of our connection at the same time I treated her. She seemed to be doing the same, keeping her eyes on me while I went about my work. What was left of her bruises were brown and yellow, some tinted with a bit of green. Her wrist was badly bruised and a little swollen. I rubbed in my bruise salve and wrapped it tightly once again.

I tenderly unwrapped her torso, and checked her stitches, cleaning around them, careful not to let the cloth pull on the thread of her bindings. With much of the swelling down I had to tighten some of the stitching on the longer and deeper wounds. I did so, using a numbing herb I had discovered a short time ago. It allowed me to work without adding to her pain. She never made a sound above a slight whimper throughout the process of tending her many physical ailments. I thought that perhaps she had been held captive so long that she was almost used to this kind of pain. The thought was very disturbing and sickening as it passed through my mind. I made my tea again, and as she drank, she relaxed some more. Her eyes told me she was starting to consider her ordeal, thinking it through as a past event instead of an ongoing one. I did not ask for any information, I felt that we both needed more time to process ourselves before we went into any more detail.

I had succeeded in gaining her trust, but it would take time to earn her story. She needed to process it, come to some terms with it, and then trust herself to deal with it being spoken aloud before she could tell me anything. We stayed silent, speaking with looks and touches as we had for the last several days of my bringing her home. After we ate again I insisted she rest more, even if she didn’t sleep her body needed rest to recover fully. My mind needed it too and so I stretched out on my back near the hearth, planning to meditate for a while before I tackled the existential crisis of my soul being interacted with.

She tried to protest when she looked at me an hour or so later, seeing me lying on the floor. I silenced her with a look of disdain, when her lips parted as though to argue anyway I told her in a serious tone, “You are injured, and still healing. I don't have any way to heal you instantly. You need proper rest. It’s a miracle really that you were alive in the state that I found you.” She looked away from me and said nothing more on my small discomforts. We continued through the days in relative silence, with every sunrise I helped her to the privy, then I cleaned her and checked the various injuries. Her stitches were holding, and the bruises had mostly faded to yellow and brown, and even her wrist was healing well with only a bit of soreness by weeks end. Only her ribs and exposed wings still concerned me, she promised to keep breathing lightly so as not to disturb her ribs, and I unbound her chest. With the linen binding gone I suggested that she sheath her wings as well, to make resting easier and dressing possible. It took work on her part to remember how, but after a few minutes of struggle, she managed it at last. I gave her a linen tunic then, cut down the front, to wear while her healing continued. When I told her I felt confident enough in her progress to remove her stitches a few days later, she brightened, once the stitches were out she could bathe.