“Be seated, Lady Elyn,” came the Mage’s voice again.
“But I cannot see,” she returned.
“Ah me, I forget.” Of a sudden there was yellow light filling the cottage, the Wolfmage holding a lamp. Thork sat at a table.
The cottage was surprisingly large-perhaps even larger on the inside than out, thought Elyn, immediately rejecting such a preposterous notion.
Still and all, the room held a table with four chairs; two tall cupboards with drawers; a hearth with fire irons and a stack of wood, as well as cooking kettles and ladles and the like; a sideboard for preparing food, with attendant cutlery; a small scullery table on top of which was a water bucket and soap and a washing pan and pads. A small open door led into a pantry; and another door, closed, led she knew not where. Behind Thork and against a wall stood a cot below a window.
All was clean and well ordered: the oaken floor looked freshly scrubbed, there were no dirty dishes, and the bed was made. Even so, the place had an unlived-in feel to it.
Elyn drew a chair from under the table and sat, and her weariness washed over her like an irresistible wave. She sat numbly as the Wolfmage moved quietly about the room, her eyes gritty with fatigue yet her vision preternaturally sharp, Thork looking almost unreal in his clarity. Next she laid her head down upon the table.
There came a time she remembered being led to a cot, vaguely hearing the silver-haired Mage say, “Sleep, Warrior Maid, for now you are safe. The Draega will ward your night from attack, and I shall take steps to ward the ’Wood ’gainst intrusion of another kind.”
It was late morn when Elyn awoke at last, stirring shadows of soft-blown leaves mingled with sunlight falling upon her cheek, a light zephyr gently caressing the trees outside. She could hear the quiet susurration of simmering water, and turning her head she could see a large kettle over ruddy coals in the hearth, a mist of steam rising upward. An empty bucket sat upon the floor as if in invitation. Wincing from her broken ribs, Elyn gingerly levered herself up from the bed and stood. She was alone in the cottage.
The door that had been closed last night was now open, and behind it lay another room; and therein stood a large wooden tub. Padding upon bare feet-Who removed my boots? — she stepped inward and saw that the tub was partly filled with crystalline water, cool to the touch. Upon a bench lay a soft grey robe.
Repeatedly using the bucket, she added hot water to the cool, raising the temperature until it was heated to nearly beyond enduring. Removing her soiled leathers, she stepped over the side and into the tub, hesitantly, slowly, easing into the bath, cautiously sinking into the steeping heat. Finally she was immersed, and gradually acclimated to the steaming water, until at last she relaxed, luxuriating in the warmth, her cuts and bruises and fractured rib cage completely forgotten.
How long she soaked thus, she did not know, though it was long enough to pucker her skin; yet at last when the temperature diminished noticeably, she began scrubbing with a soft-scented soap she found on a sideboard, starting with the cleansing of her hair. She washed her face and arms, then the rest of her body, and was rinsing when the Wolfmage, bearing bandages, stepped into the bathing room.
Flustered, Elyn attempted to cover herself-finding the wash cloth entirely too scant-and she sank into the water.
Puzzled, the Magus cocked his head. Then understanding filled his eyes. “Oh yes. I had forgotten.” He turned his back. “Regardless, we must bind your ribs. Know you how to do it?”
At Elyn’s quiet “No”-
“Then there’s nothing for it, Lady Elyn, but that I must do it instead,” responded the Wolfmage. “Remove yourself from the tub, towel off, dress in the robe, but remain uncovered from the waist up.”
Red from the hot water, and perhaps from embarrassment, Elyn did as bid, the robe overlarge upon her, held about her waist by a silken cord. Turning her back to the Mage, she said, “I’m ready.”
His hands were surprisingly gentle, but the binding remarkably firm, as it was cinched rigorously about her tender ribs. When the wrapping was done, held in place by cloth ties-“Now you may finish dressing.”
The Magus was waiting for her at the table. “Here, drink this. It will aid in the healing.”
As Elyn downed the small cup of a liquid faintly tasting of salt, “Put not overmuch strain upon those fractures,” admonished the Mage. “Breathe shallowly. Squat, do not stoop. Twist not. Take care when standing. Bear only the lightest of burdens.”
At Elyn’s nod-“Your comrade sits outside,” said the Wolfmage, and then he turned and vanished through the door.
“Wait,” called Elyn, but he was gone. “Thank you,” she said to the empty air behind.
Raising the hem of the overlong robe, Elyn stepped outside. Nearby, a Silver Wolf stood at guard, and another lay on the sward not far away. And the Warrior Maid found Thork sitting on the grass in the shade beneath an oak tree. As she approached, the Dwarf stood, his injured left arm now cradled in a sling. Elyn burst out laughing, which caused her ribs to hurt, bound as they were, for Thork’s robe draggled upon the ground by a foot or two, and he looked much the same as would a child dressed in adult’s clothing. . except no child sported a forked beard, nor had shoulders too wide for the robe to fasten at the chest and neck, which made the sight in Elyn’s eyes altogether hilarious, paining her ribs even more.
Thork at first was puzzled by her amusement, his baffled look causing her to laugh all the harder. Waving one hand in dismissal, and clamping the other one over her mouth, Elyn tried to stop her laughter, tried to stop the hurt in her ribs, and only succeeded in producing explosive gusts of tittering air through her fingers and hurting all the more.
It was then that Thork looked down at himself and at last saw that he was the target of her merriment, and with a growl, he frumpishly plopped back down and would have crossed his arms in scowling disgust except the sling got in the way. Besides, his improvised right cuff had become unrolled, the end of the sleeve flopping down a goodly ten or twelve inches past the tips of his fingers; and he struggled and flapped his good right arm, trying to recover his hand from the cloth. This caused Elyn to gale even more. And holding her aching sides and giggling in distress, she struggled to where he sat and dropped to her knees before him, reaching out to aid him, tears of pain and joy in her eyes.
His jaw outthrust, beard quivering in indignation, eyes bulging, face livid, Thork seemed ready to burst with rage.
“Ah me, my Dwarven warrior, would that the Trolls had seen you thus,” Elyn managed to gasp out between giggles as she rerolled his sleeve. “They would have died of sheer glee.”
And quicksilver swift, the look on Thork’s face shifted from wrath to mirth as he saw the absurdity of it all, and the glade rang with his belly laughter.
Moving gingerly, Elyn sat beside him, her back to the same oak. For a long while she could not withhold tittering now and again, Thork chortling with her as well.
“How long has it been, I wonder,” she asked, “since I have laughed so? Not since. .” Her words stumbled to a halt, her mind turning upon a painful memory.
Thork, sensing her distress, said nought.
In the trees above, cicadas sang their song of the shift of the season; fall would soon be upon the land, and they called to one another here at summer’s passing, seeking mates ere their own time came to an end. Somewhere near a fallen log a cricket chirruped stridently, this sound offset by the lazy hum of bees among the tiny blue flowers within the grass, gathering nectar and pollen while they could, bearing it to their hidden cache deep within the wood. And in the clearing the Silver Wolves exchanged places, one taking up the watch from the other.