“This will hurt,” he cautioned, hoping that she understood that his actions were medical in nature and not malicious. She appeared wholly resigned to the entire venture, but there was a spark of fear present as well, and her body was tight with tension, almost as if it took a great deal of her will to simply allow him to hold onto her forearm at all.
His fingers pressed into the injury, trying to ascertain the state of the bone. Penryn released a whimper, and Grimult could not fault her for it. She was trying admirably to contain her discomfort, likely so as not to divulge their location should any already be looking for them, but the bone was misaligned and he doubted she would be able to maintain a calm facade for long.
Not with what he must do.
He had no specific experience with this, although the concept had been driven into him by instructors frequently enough. It was unnatural for his kind to travel so long on foot, and mishaps were not unheard of—a misplaced log or twine of vine was enough to send one sprawling, and if a rock was in the way...
He did not give her warning, not when she would brace herself and make it all the more painful. A jerk of his hands and her mouth opened into a scream, her other hand clamping quickly over her mouth as she released a sob. He could comfort her in a moment, but fingers pressed yet again, assessing and thoughtful as he tried to ascertain that he had not overcompensated. It seemed even, although he made an additional two passes with his forefinger and thumb trying to be sure.
Penryn did not try to beg him into ceasing, and for that he was grateful. It was difficult enough to know he was the source of her continued pain, even if it was for her ultimate benefit, and she would live with the consequences of his treatment even now.
The splint was next, and she relaxed marginally when she no longer anticipated another cruel shift of bone. Tears streamed from her eyes in any case, but he focused on his work rather than her expression. Sympathy nagged at him, as well as a longing for the ease that had grown between them.
Grudge keeping was more an attribute of his sister than of himself, but even now he found himself wondering if she laughed at him for his naivety when in her few moments of privacy. Did she think him foolish for the trust he had placed in the sages, for the stories he had accepted as truth so unquestioningly?
He felt enough of a fool.
She could have quickly doused the flame and told him to fly with her if the need was great enough, saving them weeks of meagre rations and blistered feet.
She had told him the Journey still had purpose, even if it was not what he had thought.
He was finding it difficult to believe her.
It was a challenge to find the proper tension on the bandages. Too tight and he would cause damage to her circulation. Too loose and the bones would be free to fall out of alignment yet again.
It took two attempts before he was satisfied with the endeavour, the cloth bulky on her otherwise slender wrist, but it was an adequate structure. Or so he hoped.
He would have delivered her to the Wall by the time it should be removed and her wrist healed enough to support itself once more. He would have to give her instructions before they parted, as doubtlessly the sages had not taught her much of medicine either.
Or was it in one of her books?
“Please, say something,” Penryn entreated as he released her wrist and placed it gently back into her lap. Her eyes were wide and pleading, and he could not fathom what she wished for him to say.
So he said the only thing he truly could.
“I would be grateful if you could assist my wing before I tend to your ribs.”
From the slumping of her shoulders, that was not what she wished to hear, but she nodded regardless. “Of course,” she murmured. “If you will tell me what to do.”
He was mindful that she had only one usable hand so he wetted one of the bathing cloths himself before handing it to her. “For the blood,” he informed her, his skin prickling with awareness as she stood behind him out of view. It had never bothered him before, his trust in her implicit.
Evidently that had changed.
There was another possibility, one that he did not give much credence to. The anticipation of touch, of attention to delicate areas—it was similar to the catch of breath when she would offer to tend his feathers, only magnified.
The water was cold, but he felt strangely removed from it, his thoughts too occupied with the grim reality he was now forced to face. Her movements were slow and methodical, dipping frequently back into the river to allow some of the blood to join that of the beast and the rider already within the water.
He swallowed, not wanting to think of it. Not wanting to think at all any longer.
Better to act, to focus his mind on the tangible rather than torture himself with all he did not understand.
He emptied a pouch of dried herbs onto a plate and mixed a bit of water in with a dull blade, pressing back and forth until the juices released and a muddy green poultice appeared in its wake. If it had bled so much, it was likely more intervention was recommended, but he could not reach to see to it himself and Penryn had not the skills, so it would have to do.
He nearly jumped when a movement came he was not expecting. He could not immediately place the method she was using to touch him, the pressure odd but causing no further pain than the
