F
Forianna
Guest
[BCOLOR=transparent]The fresh stench of death clung to the air and palpably hung like funeral pall. It was a scent you could never become accustomed to. Death was thick and biting; it would force itself into your system, and you could taste carrion and blackened blood the longer it lingered. It made Kestrel's stomach do a backflip, her rationed nooning meal threatening to spill onto the floor, and she dug a handkerchief out of one of her many pouches. The healer tied the square fabric around her face, her hands shaking as she pulled her cropped hair away from it's tethered place at her neck.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Airmid lumbered on, slowly beside her; her companion, her aux, her protector. The mighty brown bears shoulders rocked with each cautious step. Even as comfortable and familiar as it was to be beside Airmid, with the fresh scent of blood hanging so thickly in the air the bear was not helping her nausea. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"The air tastes of copper..." Kestrel mumbled as she fitfully raked her fingers through her burnt ember tresses. "Some poor soul has lost a lot of blood."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Kestrel stumbled over a loose tiles, bugs skittering all around her feet, and retched as a fresh wave of nausea made her stomach roll. She could hear fighting, far away, but much closer than that she could hear the sounds of agony. With one hand ghosting across Airmid's phantom shoulder Kestrel pushed onward. Those souls could be saved; she had been called, and so she would go.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]It didn't take long to find the source of the sounds of death. A wet, rattling breath rasped out of chapped and bloodied lips. Kestrel rushed to the victim without a thought. The brunet haphazardly recovered a pair of deerskin gloves from her hind pocket and shoved her hands into them without ceremony. The healer knelt next to the dying man. His labored breathing came in short bursts, quickly using what little energy he surely had left on misguided hopes of survival. There was blood everywhere and his gut was torn open. It was too gruesome to fathom, and it was becoming far too common as of late.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]He weakly lifted his hand. It shook violently as it slowly rose, and Kestrel gently took hold of it without hesitation. She pulled down her kerchief, her smile soft and sad, and the scent that plagued her before hit her like a ton of bricks. She closed her eyes tight for a second, a few steadying breaths passing with a pounding heart, and she forced the illness from her mind. This one life that was about to flicker out needed her now; she had no time for anything else. The dying soldier tried to speak, but no words could be choked from his tightening throat.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Hush now," Kestrel said gently, her free hand reaching to caress his brow. This soldier must have been a dandy, with hair the color of Autumn wheat that was now caked with dried blood. "You'll be just fine. I've got you now. You're safe with me."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Her voice did not waver once through the lie.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]The soldier tried to smile, but all that came out was one last harsh gasp. His eyes darkened, lids falling not quite closed. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]He stirred no more.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Sleep now." Kestrel whispered, the somber healers hand drawing his lids closed. She gently placed his hands across his chest, sent a prayer for his soul, and rose again. Airmid was there, ready to accept her back, as she always was. Kestrel pulled her handkerchief over her mouth and nose again, thankful for the linen buffer between her and the stench, before returning to her aux side. She was sure there would be more in need of her services. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Hopefully, next time, she'd make it in time to save them.[/BCOLOR]