10 Years, Improvised Camp. Healing.

I wake up by the feeling of someone touching me. My heart starts racing, but calms itself as soon as I see Maaten, who changes the wound dressing on my feet. He stops for a moment when he notices me starting, but continues when I calm down. I watch as he cleans my feet with a soft brush, and then applies a brown-greenish ointment, which he subsequentially covers under new, still white rags. Now that I am awake, he started explaining what he does, in a calm and calming tone.

“I need to get the dirt out of the frozen area, or else it has a high chance of infection. Here, this cream is to disinfect further, and keep your feet from deteriorating beyond the critical state they are in already. It is composed of an active agent produced by the magic guild, generally very handy, and ground medicinal herbs, in a suitable carrier fat. Of course, I also need to dress it properly, or it will be for naught...”

While explaining, Maaten states his knowledge as facts, showing not the slightest insecurity for his ability as a doctor. This is weird, considering how insecure he seems otherwise, but it also puts me to rest, giving me the feeling of being in competent hands.

“Your skin is going to blister soon, that is natural when recovering from a burn. The ointment I applied yesterday and today while you slept will help mitigating that a bit and also aid the recovery, but you can not get around it totally.” Indeed, the cooling effect which had faded over the past day is back, implying that the cream has been reapplied.

“I used nearly my whole jar of burn ointment, so you will have to go on without it tomorrow. I also refrained from giving you more narcotic, drugging you the whole time is not an option, especially since your young body might react poorly to continued doses. Yesterday was an exception, since you had this terrible fever.” I feel my cracked rib more than yesterday, and it makes breathing painful, but it is still nothing compared to what I had to endure during the fight, so I think I will manage.

“Regarding the rib itself, there is not really anything I can do. What you need is bed rest so it can heal by itself. If not for this important beast we are hunting, I would have proposed staying here until you are healed, but like this, I will have to find another solution.” Maaten looks troubled over that, but I do not feel like telling him he does not have to worry – after I opened up yesterday and it only hurt me, I will remain silent so I can live in peace. At least for now.

During Maatens whole talk, I looked into his face, trying to assess if he is hiding anything from me regarding my condition, but it did not seem that way. If this continues, I estimate that I will be able to do pretty much everything again in a few days. Not without pain, but to good enough capacity. Still, I take his advice, and lie down again.

That is, until he and the rest of the band left, and something else in the camp peaks my interest. One person stayed behind, and is now minding his own business. I try getting up, but realize I am naked under the blanket. My clothes are not laying next to the bed, so I wrap the blanket around myself. I also increase the heating on the spots that wont be covered by the blanket, and set my foot onto the snowed ground.

It does not hurt as much as Maaten had foretold, probably because I apply less pressure on it, since I am so much lighter than normal. I feel a bit guilty about completely disregarding Maatens advise, but at the same time, I feel like I am wasting my time when just laying idle.

The young man in the travelling attire sits on a small leather sitting blanket, separating his fur-lined cloth pants from the snow underneath. I quietly step next to him, and get a good look at what he was hiding behind his rather slim back. A small, short folding table is set up in front of him, barely enough for a stack of paper sheets held together by a wooden clipper, a small piece of erasing mass, and a collection of three pencils, in varying sizes. The man himself, referred to by others as Simon yesterday, from what I picked up when they where sitting around the camp fire, is moving the pencil in his hand over the paper manically, letting line after line of tiny, untidy writing appear.

I sit down next to him, so I can get a better look at what he is writing. (Plus, my feet actually are hurting more when standing up, if only ever so slightly.) He does not seem to notice me, totally engulfed in the sheet of paper in front of him. He fills the first sheet shortly after I sit down, turns it around, finds the backsides covered in the same messy handwriting, and stores he in a leather folder that layed on his lap up to this point. Without hesitating, he then proceeds to do the same on the next sheet of paper. Finally, when he reaches for a water skin next to him, he notices me.

“Ah, you were that sitting here. Did you enjoy watching me write?” He unties the water skin, and drinks from it in big, greedy gulps. Unsure to how to answer his question without embarrassing myself, I slightly shake my head. In fact, it was interesting to watch him write, however.

Simon laughs. “You didn't? Ah, a shame! Olivia always tells me she enjoys watching me write. I'm glad you did not snuggle as close as she does when watching me, though!” Relieved that I did not seem to offend him, which would subsequentially have made getting information from him harder, I breathe a slight sigh of relief.

“Did Maaten allow you to get out of bed already? I remember him talking about your injuries quite in detail, and also setting a minimum span of your bed rest of at least two weeks. Did anything of that change?” After a long period of contemplating, I again shake my head, only a little. Simon bellows out a short laughter, again. “I get you! Staying in bed is boring, right? I totally get you, believe me. But, although I had quite the quarrel with Maaten when I broke my index finger and he forbid me to write, I believe in his ultimate competency as a doctor. If he says something is best for you, it is.”

Guilt starts flooding into my consciousness, after all, Maaten had only wanted the best for me. Yet, with all the involuntary experience and training I had in the last two weeks, I manage to mask my guilt behind a stone face, barely, but fully. Simon sighs. “Well, I am not Maaten, so I will not carry you into the bed. Still, I recommend it. Seriously.” His joking tone is gone, and he now talks like a older person would lecturing a child. My stone mask cracks, and the guilt finally seeps into my facial expression. I slump back to the bed, and lie onto it.

Simon, instead of continuing to write, sits down next to me. “I get it, its boring. I will give you a bit of company, if you wish.” Again involuntarily, relief seeps into my expression, and I work hard to rebuild that mask of stone again. “Say, have you ever learned to read? I believe it is one most important skills anybody can possibly possess, right next to writing. If you want, I can teach -”

I nod my head, and speak, very silently: “I can.”

For a moment, Simon looks downright sad that he does not get to teach me. Then, he quickly overwrites that with excitement. “You can, that is great! Have you read 'The Dark Nothingness'?”

I shake my head. Simons joy seems to have halved over that motion. “Hmm, I unfortunately do not have a copy with me, either... Then what about 'Silently the peck-potter cries'?” Again, I shake my head. “But you surely read 'Dark Moon over the City'? 'Thoughts of yesterday'? 'Abyssal Cravings'? 'House of Tuttenberrow?'” To each, I shake my head, and each one plants more questions in my head. What does the Abyss crave for? Who was Tuttenberrow? What where the thoughts of yesterday? From how Simon described it, I get the feeling I missed out.

Simon himself seems devastated. “Those all were classics... What book did you even read? 'Temptation of the promiscuous Landlady'?” Again, I shake my head. Then, with silent voice, I say:

“I read 'What is Magic? The basics.'

Simon does not react well to that. “Are you mocking me?” His voice seems thoroughly insulted. I see a deep pain in his eyes, appearing as soon as he heard my words. I feel my words were not the cause of the problem, but rather the reason why it resurfaced. I quickly shake my head, and add “It is the truth!” That seems have triggered something in Simon, and instead of offended, he just looks depressed.

“I am sorry, I overreacted. It is just, this book and I have had a bad history, and hearing that title, it brought forth bad memories.” Simon does not seem comfortable talking about it, and for the sake of wanting others to treat me like I do them, I do not pry. I, too, got painful memories to bury, just not related to this book. This brings to my mind that all the time, I carried it with me in my pouch.

“Where are my clothes?” As long as it is about normal topics, a little talking will not hurt too much. I actually wondered where my clothes where since yesterday, but since I did not need them under the blanket and with all the ointment on my skin, I saw no urgency in getting them back.

“Oh, we hung them up into a nearby small tree, to dry. They were wet when we found you. Wait, I will get them for you.” Simon gets up, and leaves, I loose sight of him in the dense forest surrounding us. Shortly after, he gets back, indeed with my robes, pants and shirt. I sit upright in the bed, and Simon plants the clothes onto my lap. I rummage through them, and quickly find my waist pouch. It had stuck in my trouser during the last journey before I collapsed, since I needed the string that normally kept it on my waist to tie together the claws.

I open it, and pull out a slightly tattered and wet copy of said book. The pouch did decently enough at protecting it, and although it is not at all beautiful, it is still fully readable. Simon winces a bit when seeing the cover, but it not like he has a phobia against it. He does not comment on it, instead, he continues writing, he moved his desk and sitting pillow right next to my bed. I skim through the book, and even though I have problems reading it, (since I never was a particularly good reader), it brings back memories. While the feelings they evoke are bittersweet, they themselves are happy. They tell of a better time without problems, with healthy parents and nothing to do except merrily bathing in your own thoughts.

When I actually get to reading its content, I realize with how much I disagree, how much is just straight-up not adding up with what I discovered myself, and what I witnessed with Brian and Ione. Most obvious, not mentioning adapterless casting at all. I do not understand why they do not teach that in the magic university, it may be harder and more complicated, but ultimately, it is faster and more versatile, both useful aspects. Most important however, you can do it without this annoying thing in your arm.

There are some other things not adding up, like the laws of how magic energy drains and recovers, but I stop thinking about it when I notice that Simon stopped writing, and is looking at me. Noticing being noticed, he asks a question, seemingly one he had waited long to ask: “Is it true what Popey said? Are you married to a spirit?” He asks this with a notion not unsimilar to when I ask someone a, in retrospect, pretty silly and self-explanatory question.

“What is that even supposed to mean? Why would you think that?”

“Well, because you are so light! Popey often talks about them, when he talks of his home. The men and women married to spirits, I mean. He says it is common there, but he never saw anyone like that again since he left. That is also why he is so excited, I think. He says those married have fantastical abilities, like jumping like a leaf in the wind, or scorching objects with their fists, or being as hard to hit as water. I actually wrote a poem collection about a married one, from what stories Popey told us.” Simon seems to have broken free from his glum state, and now is as excited as ever. “That reminds me: If you only ever read that book, you never read any poetry, right?

A bit overwhelmed, I nod. Simon rushes to the old spot he sat at, reaches into his backpack, and rushes back. His cheeks are a bit reddish, whether from the cold or from excitement, I can not tell.

“I am sorry I mistook you for a boy of bad taste, when the reality is still worse! I only got some poems with me that I wrote, and an anthology by Silgur Silverpen. Start with the anthology, then read my own works!” He puts a small bound book into my hand, and followed by a small leather folder. “I always wanted that Olivia reads them, but oh shame, she only wants me to read things out loud to her. I am glad I found another appreciator of the arts in you!” He sits back down, and with newly-kindled spirits, starts writing down word after word, line after line.

I did not know I was an 'appreciator of the arts'. Yet, I got hardly anything better to do, so I start reading the anthology.

Hours later, I am about a quarter through. What I read elated me more than hardly anything, safe for whenever I made a new advancement in the magic arts. I read familiar words, but composed to sentences in an unfamiliar way, painting strange and beautiful pictures in my mind. The first poem was only a page long, about ten lines, and dealt with a boy plucking a flower in the midst of a field of weeds.

At least I thought that the first time reading. I am a slow reader, and not a very secure one, so I had to read every sentence and passage again and again, and everytime, I found a new possible meaning, adding another layer of depth to the text. Now it was about a boy plucking a flower, then about a man finding something beautiful in a sea of mediocrity, and next time about a lover following his acclaimed through all the things throwing itself into his way.

The poems only got better after that. Over time, I got faster and more secure in reading, with everything I learned from the mayors wife coming back into place. I also found subpatterns in the patterns of the text, revealing more meaning to myself each and every time.

Finally, I was burnt out by this new sensation, and felt I needed a rest, so I put the book aside. Simon had decided to take a nap, and snored a few meters away, in his own bedroll. It was about this time that the others returned.

They were visibly exhausted, and as soon as they returned, Maaten started preparations for the next meal. Olivia was feeding her bird, and Popey sat down together with the other woman, who apparently goes by the name of Shina, and the muscular man, named Timo. They talk about their trip, I do not understand everything, but from what I get, they had been following the tracks of the owlbear quite far into the forest, but eventually returned to stray not to far from the camp.

The name owlbear was actually used for the beast, so they most likely had heard of it from the mayor. I wonder if the mayor also told them to look for a disappeared child, I do not think it is unlikely, but if he did, noone mentioned it to me. Although they seem to have quite good teamwork and combat power, I doubt they would be able to take the owlbear down. Maybe the mayor knew that as well, but still sent them for the lack of better options.

Not long after, a pot of stew is hanging over the campfire, apparently with lots of leftover boar meat from yesterday, and various mushrooms and herbs Maaten picked in the forest. It has a hearty fragrance, and reminds me that I am actually quite hungry. The sun is about to set as well, bathing the whole scenery in a nice orange-red light, mixing with the light emitted by the campfire.

Finally the soup in the pot seems about done, but before Maaten gets the chance to give everyone a bowl, Olivia stands up and gets everyone attention with a single word. “Companions! Before we eat, let us discuss how to proceed. I know, you are hungry, but this is important.” A slight grumbling runs through the rest of the band, it is apparent that they had looked forward to that meal, but the protest does not stretch further, and everyone, myself included, listens to what she has to say.

“Our prey is deeper inside the forest than expected. If we want to follow it, we need to break the camp and venture deeper into the forest as a whole. However, given our special guest, this may be hard to do.” She looks into my direction, but even without that, everybody knows who is meant. “Originally, I had planned to take out the troublemaker on this trip, return to the camp, and remain here until the boy is in a transferable state. But, this is not an option now. The village where we started off is about a days march away from here. Maaten, if someone carried the boy, do you think he could be brought to the village's healer? Is that possible in his condition?”

Wait. This is not going into a direction I like.

“Hmm, I think it should be possible. His fever went down, he does not seem like he is on the brink of death anymore. In fact, he seems not injured in any way that would have direct life-threatening consequences. I would actually prefer him being brought to a proper doctor with proper equipment.”

Damn it. I do not want to go back there. If I do so, I will get killed. No question. The mayor said he would protect me, but this was before I ran the second time. I can not go back there, or the mob would kill me. No way. But what should I do?

After thinking a second about Maatens answer, Olivia takes word again. “I've been thinking about this on our whole way back, actually. If we break camp and go further into the forest, we can not let Maaten stay here with the boy, in case anyone of us gets wounded, we would be helpless without him. Popey, Simon.” The two adressed listen extra carefully to what Olivia says next. “You two, carry the boy back into the village. One of you would suffice since he is so light, but to be honest, Simon, I do not want you to travel through the forest alone. Neither do I want you to go with us further, it was a bad Idea from the start, after seeing the destruction this monster caused. Therefore, Popey, go with him. Your experience as a trapper and a fighter are very valuable, but of little use against a beast of this calibre.”

How do I convince them otherwise? Do I use magic to fake a relapse into fever? No, that would freak Maaten out, and I do not know what he would do then, quite possible rush to bring me to the village doctor, seeing himself unable to treat me.

In the worst case, I will just run away again. I know how to survive in the forest, and I did so before. But, I would also rather not do that. I ran away so often from problems, just because it was the easiest way. Plus, I have taken a liking in the group, and I bet I could learn a lot from them, if they only would let me.

Then, there is still the option of telling them the truth. To what extent is unclear, but to tell them enough so they keep me with them, and do not bring me back. But what do I tell them? That I would be killed if I got back to the village? That the owlbear, the monster, as they proclaimed it, was already killed by me? Both do not seem particularly believable from the mouth of a feverish ten-year old. For the second, I would have at least the proof of the claws that I took.

Considering the two options I have and how I swore to act in the future, I only have one option, really.

“NOO!” I scream. The six flinch a bit, not expecting my scream. Then Olivia, followed by the rest of the band, comes and stands right next to the place where I lay down.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I must not go back there, to the village...” I try to put as much emotion and dread into my voice, but surprisingly I realise that I do not even have to try. Tears start flowing down my cheek, and I howl more than I speak. I realise I genuinely fear going back there, with every last bit of my body. “All but that! Please, I beg you! Don't bring me back there... I do not want to die! Please, all but that...” The words flow as fast and hot as my tears, and they seem to have an impact on the faces of everyone.

“Now, now, calm down... It is alright... Shhhh...” Olivia sits down, and lays her arm around me in an almost motherly embrace. When she pats my head, I do not recoil like I did last time. From the edge of my vision, the part not obstructed by her chest, I see the others standing around awkwardly.

She sat there for as long as I remember. I had originally planned to tell them why I did not want to return to the village, but in her sweet embrace, something I only now realised how much my body craved it, I was quick to fall asleep.