The wooden shaft of the spear trembled in his grip, Aion having to jump out of the way as the bloodied horse thrashed on the ground. Droplets of blood splattered against the ground, splashed upon his own chest, adding to the many layers of red he wore. Just this morning he had been as white as snow, clean and dry and more or less safe in the desert heat.
Now he was soaked to the bone in blood. Blood he couldn't even claim as his own, not that anyone would be able to tell from looking at him. A scowl turned down the corners of his lips and for a just a second, Aion considered that maybe this wasn't worth it. It was a thankless job after all, healing a man he doubted he'd ever see again, and one he could very well be killed doing if he stumbled upon the wrong person. His own life might not be worth much, but he still wasn't ready to give it up so willingly or foolishly. He gripped the spear tighter. "I've told you once already, stay still and let me help. I'm not going to ask again." 'I'll just leave.' The injured horse groaned in a way that seemed far too dramatic to Aion, but settled back down, sides heaving as fresh blood carved tracks through the dirt. "That's better." Time was quickly running out, the window he had to work shrinking by the second. He could almost count how many heartbeats separated this stallion from life and death--but he wouldn't. Doing so would be nothing short of acceptance, and that was the quickest way to kill in this line of work. Instead he gave the spear a good yank, so that several inches of soiled wood appeared. A few more tugs and the weapon was freed, then discarded quickly in the desert dust. Without hesitation Aion shoved several rags into the gaping hole that was left, buying himself just enough time to douse his potions into the wound. And just like that the time for talking was over, hunching himself over the stallion and his wound. Aion worked quickly, pulling the many layers of tissues back together again and bounding them with sutures, all the while using his rags to staunch the bleeding and applying copious amounts of salves. Finally, the last rag was removed and the last line of stitches was sewn. It was only then that he saw the cuff of leather and bear teeth, wrapped snugly around the stallion's left leg and nearly obscured by mud. Carefully, slowly, he wiped away the dirt and dust with one of his now dirty rags to reveal a symbol carved by hand into its detailing. It was one Aion had seen for the very first time this morning--painted across a banner that flew above a burning pile of slain bodies. The Davke. He looked at it for hardly a second before turning away disinterestedly. "You really ought to pick a different career... preferably one that doesn't involve dying." He didn't wait to hear the rebel's response before taking his leave. He wasn't interested in a story, an excuse, a reason--his work here was done. Davke or Solterran, what did it matter to him, a foreigner not only to this Court of Day lovers, but to Novus as a whole? They all looked the same to him, and not a single one of them resembled the man he was looking for. He should have known better than to come looking for him in a desert, the dryest and hottest he'd seen yet. No matter. It was just one more place to cross off his list, a confirmation to what he already knew to be true. He came to an abrupt stop. Was his mind playing tricks on him now? Or was that hoofbeats he heard behind him? Obviously it couldn't be the man he'd just healed, who was in no shape to be up and moving. But the hoofbeats stopped just a half-beat after he did: someone was following him. He turned slowly, looking into the shadows of the ruined buildings scattered around the Solterran capitol. "Well there's no use in hiding, is there?" @Cyrene a thousand years later ”are you still talking?” |
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