[Every muscle in Hector’s body aches as he lifts the struggling body.]
Shhhhh.
[He hushes by instinct; Isaac has never been one to follow an order. The cries get muffled by vomit, and Hector has to fumble through the hold to get a hand free to turn Isaac’s head so he doesn’t choke on it. There’s bile on Hector’s clothes and shoes and streaking Isaac’s face. This night gets better and better.
Unconsciousness is a blessing when it comes. At least Hector now only has to contend with dead weight, not with a stubborn idiot crying out.
It would be better to make a roundabout course to their destination, through the streams that flow down the mountain to obscure their path, but Isaac is too poorly off to allow for that. Hector takes the quickest path.
The cave is dark and quiet. Hector eases Isaac out of his arms and onto the cold stone. He moves aside the cloak to examine the hastily cauterized wound. The skin bulges, distorted by some foreign object still inside.]
You’re not going to like this. [He murmurs, taking one of Isaac’s daggers and wiping it clean on his pants. This is the best he can do under the circumstances.
He cuts into the flesh, reopening the wound. The blade is withdrawn and replaced by Hector’s fingers, seeking out the shard he knows must be there. Slow and gentle will prove to be no kindness in the long run, so Hector is quick and deliberate. Feeling through blood and tissue, he finds the broken bit of shaft. He widens the cut and draws out the piece.
A glowing light appears over his shoulder. It’s a familiar light, one Hector does not need to turn to acknowledge. His fairy, finally caught up to them.
With a wordless command, the little devil focuses its energy on the flesh Hector is applying pressure to. It knits the flesh back together, purifying to ward off infection as it accelerates the body’s natural healing process.
Hector uses the water from his canteen to wash the blood from his hands. He tears a strip of cloth from his tunic and wets it to wipe the sick from Isaac’s lips and cheeks.
He needs to leave the cave, to intersect their pursuers before they tract the forgemasters to this hideout.
He lingers for a moment, still kneeling beside Isaac’s prone form. It’s rare to see him still, unguarded.
Hector reaches out a hand to brush sweat-slick hair from his brow. He repeats the motion, with no purpose other than to reassure himself that Isaac has not yet succumbed to his wound. It’s a gentle touch that Isaac would never permit in waking, so Hector steals it while he sleeps.
And then he rises, leaving the fairy to watch over Isaac as he heads to the opening of the cave.]
no subject
Shhhhh.
[He hushes by instinct; Isaac has never been one to follow an order. The cries get muffled by vomit, and Hector has to fumble through the hold to get a hand free to turn Isaac’s head so he doesn’t choke on it. There’s bile on Hector’s clothes and shoes and streaking Isaac’s face. This night gets better and better.
Unconsciousness is a blessing when it comes. At least Hector now only has to contend with dead weight, not with a stubborn idiot crying out.
It would be better to make a roundabout course to their destination, through the streams that flow down the mountain to obscure their path, but Isaac is too poorly off to allow for that. Hector takes the quickest path.
The cave is dark and quiet. Hector eases Isaac out of his arms and onto the cold stone. He moves aside the cloak to examine the hastily cauterized wound. The skin bulges, distorted by some foreign object still inside.]
You’re not going to like this. [He murmurs, taking one of Isaac’s daggers and wiping it clean on his pants. This is the best he can do under the circumstances.
He cuts into the flesh, reopening the wound. The blade is withdrawn and replaced by Hector’s fingers, seeking out the shard he knows must be there. Slow and gentle will prove to be no kindness in the long run, so Hector is quick and deliberate. Feeling through blood and tissue, he finds the broken bit of shaft. He widens the cut and draws out the piece.
A glowing light appears over his shoulder. It’s a familiar light, one Hector does not need to turn to acknowledge. His fairy, finally caught up to them.
With a wordless command, the little devil focuses its energy on the flesh Hector is applying pressure to. It knits the flesh back together, purifying to ward off infection as it accelerates the body’s natural healing process.
Hector uses the water from his canteen to wash the blood from his hands. He tears a strip of cloth from his tunic and wets it to wipe the sick from Isaac’s lips and cheeks.
He needs to leave the cave, to intersect their pursuers before they tract the forgemasters to this hideout.
He lingers for a moment, still kneeling beside Isaac’s prone form. It’s rare to see him still, unguarded.
Hector reaches out a hand to brush sweat-slick hair from his brow. He repeats the motion, with no purpose other than to reassure himself that Isaac has not yet succumbed to his wound. It’s a gentle touch that Isaac would never permit in waking, so Hector steals it while he sleeps.
And then he rises, leaving the fairy to watch over Isaac as he heads to the opening of the cave.]