“You’ve been in and out for a few days.” Esme poured water from a kettle into a shallow basin and dipped in a cloth. She tested the temperature on her wrist and squeezed most of the water back out. “Hold still.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and cleaned Caro’s face, brow creased in concentration. One eye, then the other, then his mouth, perpetually chapped lips peeling and a bit scabby. Brow and cheek and nose – limited success where his beard was growing in, patchy ginger. Maybe now you’ll stop twitching and trying to sit up? Only once she was done did she sit back and fold the rag over itself in her lap. Watching him, trying to see the person and not the tasks ahead. Without magical intervention, he’d be a long time healing.
This was so, so strange. It was oddly embarrassing to wash someone’s face and be observed by them. Worse than the pragmatic intimacy of emergency surgery – but then, bedside manner had never been one of her strengths. When he still didn’t drop away back into unconsciousness, she knew she had to say something. Report, probably. They had been working, somewhere between four days and a hundred years ago.
“I sent the artist along with Alred. Haven’t heard anything back yet, good or bad.” There hadn’t been any choice; they had to trust the Dogs now. Esme slid off the bed and discarded the washcloth on the side table. She poured a glass of hot water into a cup and set a bundle of herbs to steep.
“We picked a bad time for this. The city’s locked down.” Esme strained the infusion through a sieve into another glass then returned to the bed, ready to help him drink.
“Sebastian Vael is dead. We’re stuck here.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and cleaned Caro’s face, brow creased in concentration. One eye, then the other, then his mouth, perpetually chapped lips peeling and a bit scabby. Brow and cheek and nose – limited success where his beard was growing in, patchy ginger. Maybe now you’ll stop twitching and trying to sit up? Only once she was done did she sit back and fold the rag over itself in her lap. Watching him, trying to see the person and not the tasks ahead. Without magical intervention, he’d be a long time healing.
This was so, so strange. It was oddly embarrassing to wash someone’s face and be observed by them. Worse than the pragmatic intimacy of emergency surgery – but then, bedside manner had never been one of her strengths. When he still didn’t drop away back into unconsciousness, she knew she had to say something. Report, probably. They had been working, somewhere between four days and a hundred years ago.
“I sent the artist along with Alred. Haven’t heard anything back yet, good or bad.” There hadn’t been any choice; they had to trust the Dogs now. Esme slid off the bed and discarded the washcloth on the side table. She poured a glass of hot water into a cup and set a bundle of herbs to steep.
“We picked a bad time for this. The city’s locked down.” Esme strained the infusion through a sieve into another glass then returned to the bed, ready to help him drink.
“Sebastian Vael is dead. We’re stuck here.”
10-15-2024, 02:42 PM
