Weal in Woe Chapter Five --- Sore. Sticky. Profoundly exhausted. In the bed for a change, instead of at the desk. That was an improvement. For her back, anyway. She stood, stretched, checked her room over. She dimly remembered being half-walked, half-carried to bed by Marielle, remembered dropping her bag - there, just inside the doorway - and shrugging out of her robe. There, on the floor. She picked up the robe and shrugged it back on, adjusting the sleeves, smoothing out the red triangular pattern until it was wrinkle free. She picked up her bag, opened it, checked it over - everything she'd need, all right where she'd left it. A quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up, then back down the hall, to the door opposite hers. She had a patient to check on. --- She let her eyes lose focus, saw clearly with her trained sight for a moment - two lives were visible through the fog of the wooden walls; their aether overlapping, commingling, their forms - the slow-moving coherent patterns of their aether - relaxed. Unmoving. Good. She wouldn't be interrupting anything. The door opened easily, sticking a bit on the uneven floor, the latch rattling. Marielle looked over, made eye contact, brought a finger to her lips. *Be quiet.* The great green woman slept, curled on her side, head in the artisan's lap, arm draped over her thighs. The craftswoman stroked the woman's hair with her free hand, long fingers combing through dark wavy locks. She made eye contact, nodded down, looked away, behind the woman's back. Rolling her head slightly in that direction, the craftswoman established eye contact again, raised her eyebrows. Hopeful. She read the sequence of movements as 'help me out, please?' and stepped into the room, making her way to the bed. --- With a little effort the jade giantess was on her back, arms at her sides, snoring quietly. Marielle stood beside her, gazing down at the woman, longing radiating out of her in slow waves, worry creasing her brow. The artisan tapped her shoulder, made eye contact, nodded towards the door. She pointed to her eyes with two fingers, nodded towards the slumbering woman. Pointed at the craftswoman, held up a finger. Marielle nodded and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. --- She could see an impression of the wound through the nightgown, by reading the woman's aether. The material of the nightgown occluded it, fogged it. She leaned over the sleeping woman, unbuttoned the nightgown, spread it open. The sutures held. The wound was a long, clean line from just below the left breast down to the pelvis, hooking to the right - skidding around a belt buckle, probably - and continuing down, to just above her folds. The stitching was slightly uneven, the flesh around it angry, swollen. She wasn't proud of it; she'd done her best under the circumstances. This was work she'd read about, work she'd only seen demonstrated on cadavers. Work that was, given the effectiveness of healing magick applied to a *fresh* wound, all but unheard of in cities and towns. It wasn't going to win any awards. She didn't need awards, didn't *want* awards. The woman was alive. The aether around the wound had shifted from dark to light - *bright*, almost. The woman was healing. She looked closer, looked *into* her. Sparks of pain in the bowel - the loops of tissue that she'd cleaned and closed were healing, yes, but not as cleanly as she'd like... and opening her back up to make a minor adjustment was too dangerous. It was pain the woman would have to live with, a pain that would hopefully subside quickly. She buttoned the nightgown back up and stepped into the hallway. --- "Her name is Hezzwyb." Marielle stood, arms folded, leaning against the door to her room. She blinked, disbelieving. "Hot woman? Really?" Marielle shrugged, smiled. "I think it's quite fitting." She paused, her light tone and relaxed bearing shifting, growing more composed, concerned. "How is she?" She paused for a moment, gathered her thoughts, sorted out how she felt about her performance, about the situation in general. "She looks like she's healing, but I can see pain inside of her. I'll need to talk to her when she's awake before I can determine a course of action." She realized that Marielle would be the woman's nursemaid, and more, for at least the next few days. She was asking her for instructions. "She needs bed rest and plenty of food and water for the next couple of days. Then she should be healed enough to head home, if the ride is gentle." The craftswoman nodded. "What happened to her clothes?" She shrugged. "I left them in the barn. They might still be there. Why?" "I'm going to see if I can find them and get them cleaned. If I can, I should be able to repair them. It'll give me something to do while she's asleep." The artisan tugged on one of her long pointed ears, seemingly nervous. "Would you mind keeping an eye on her for awhile?" "I need to speak with her when she wakes up. I'll be here when you return." She nodded and stepped back into the room, Marielle's footsteps fading down the stairs as she latched the door behind her. --- There wasn't much to do while the woman slept. She ate a loaf of the bread, broke off a piece of the cheese, drank some water from the jug. For awhile she sat, practicing her aether sight, watching the patterns of energy flow and swirl within the woman, watching tiny filaments arc and curl around the wound, around the pained area beneath it. Upon closer examination she discerned bruising on her back, the back of her head, her bottom. That made sense; whatever had damaged her front must have knocked her backwards, onto the ground. She wasn't experienced enough to read emotions or state of mind the way some folks could, but what she could see, what she'd learned to discern so far, was enough to help her heal people, and that was enough for now. "Are you..." The voice was low, feminine, thick with sleep. Barely awake. She blinked, bringing her material vision back into focus. Lavender eyes met hers - tired, yet alert. "...the woman who stitched you up? Yes." She nodded. "Feels like bees." Hezzwyb ran a hand over her eyes, massaged her nose between fingers and thumb. "Hurts inside, here." The tall woman drew a circle in the air with her right hand, over the left side of her belly. She blinked, closed her eyes for a long moment, spoke again, this time with greater clarity. "My back hurts too. Can you... see that?" "Yes." She yawned, did her best to stifle it behind the sleeve of her robe. "Your wound and bruises are too old for magick to effectively heal. I was able to temporarily speed up your internal processes, so that you heal and replenish your blood volume faster - that's why you're so tired, why you're probably hungry..." she yawned "...and why you feel like there are bees inside you. It'll last for another day or two. You need to drink water. A lot of it. Fruit juice, if we can find any." "Hmm." The woman closed her eyes, stared at the ceiling, briefly drummed on the mattress with her fingers. "Is there anything you can do for the pain? Mari had a cream that worked on this -" she waved a finger over her wound "- but it's nearly gone." She reached into her bag, drew out another bottle of the stuff - this one full, the wax seal intact. She set it on the nightstand, drew out a small bottle of small brown pills, tapped three of them into her hand. Hezzwyb used her arms to push herself into a sitting position. Back straight, right hand pressing her belly. Tenderly, gently, fingers splayed wide. She looked at her, looked at the pills. "The cream will work topically - front and back. Don't spend too much time on your front. These pills will ease your pain for the next day or so. After that, the acceleration should start wearing off and you should be feeling closer to normal." She handed Hezzwyb the pills, picked up the jug of water, gave it a tentative shake, pulled out the stopper. "Nothing more strenuous than the bathroom until those wear off. I mean it." She handed her the jug. "Continue to treat your body like you're in pain, even if you aren't feeling it, or you will prolong your healing and might suffer permanent nerve damage." The jade giantess swallowed the pills and drank deeply from the jug, draining it. She handed it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand - careful not to get any drops on the nightgown. "I'm Hezzwyb. Hez, if you like. What's your name?" "Svana." She took the jug, bowed slightly, set the empty earthenware vessel on the floor. "Thank you for saving my life, Svana." Hez's tone was appreciative, her eyes earnest. She realized in that moment that she could request anything she wanted as remuneration, and the woman would give it to her, gladly. The thought made her feel filthy, unworthy. "You're welcome, Hezzwyb." She felt her cheeks heat up. "Do you... want me to apply this?" She tapped the sealed bottle of analgesic with a finger. "Or would you prefer to... wait for Marielle?" She'd seen how the long-eared artisan had held her, had seen the look on her face - yesterday, and today. She tried to stifle a yawn, failed, managed to hide it, muffle it, behind the sleeve of her robe. "I'm fine with either of you. Or both." Hez smiled and yawned in kind, her tongue rippling, curling behind her hand. "But... how about a nap first?" She patted the bed next to her. "You seem to be as tired as I am." She'd given the woman a considerable portion of her aether the night before; she was still exhausted, ready for sleep. "I *did* tell Marielle I'd be here when she got back..." "And this bed has *got* to be more comfortable than that chair." It was. She lay down on the opposite side, careful to maintain some distance from her patient, and was asleep shortly after her head met the pillow.