Castle Maladil - RPG

[piosenniel]

‘Well, you don’t look as if you spent a very restful night, Ranger.’ Holly entered the makeshift shelter, taking in Volondil’s ashy complexion. His features were drawn, his eyes tired and dull, and the stubble of his beard did nothing to enhance her opinion of his condition.

Volondil shook his head ‘no’. ‘It was cold, the ground bumpier than usual, and the night, noisy.’ He rubbed at the old bandages. ‘And this thing was itchy! I spent most of the night awake, resisting the urge to scratch it.’

She knelt down beside his pallet and pushed him back flat on the ground. ‘Here let me take a look at it.’ She pulled his tunic up, exposing the old dressing. Loosing the bindings for it, she gently pulled it from his wound. ‘Ah!’ she said, nodding her head yes, her face serious. ‘It is just as I thought.’

He raised himself up on both elbows, trying to peer at the wound. ‘What?’ he demanded, his voice alarmed. ‘Is it not healing well?’ Holly pushed him back down on his back. ‘You are quite gullible, for a Ranger, aren’t you.’ she laughed. ‘It’s not gone bad, in fact, just the opposite. The skin’s a nice healthy pink, and the edges are smooth, not puckered. It’s healing quite nicely. That’s why it itches.’

He let out a sigh of relief, watching her as she took a clean linen bandage to lay against the healing wound, and bound it securely to him. ‘If it’s healed so well, why is there need for another bandage?’ His fingers strayed to the edges of the new bandage, scratching lightly at the perimeter about it. She pushed his hand firmly away from the area.

‘I want you up today, and doing more walking.’ she said, picking up his boiled leather vest. ‘The bandage will keep the area from being rubbed too hard, while you wear this to splint the area against the pain of movement.’ She bade him sit up, then crouched beside him and offered an arm up as he struggled to a standing position. He gasped at the sudden, jerky movement, trying to conceal the grimace of pain it brought on.

A shadow blocked the light from the outside. His pained expression softened and he smiled at the figure who entered. ‘Bird!’ he said in delight, reaching out a hand to draw her nearer. She winced as he took her hand. His brow furrowed as she snatched it back from him. ‘Burnt it.’ she said, showing him the shiny red, scalded area. ‘I was bringing you a mug of tea. And it spilled on me.’

‘Holly, you’ld better take a look at it.’ A note of concern crept into his voice, as he gently showed the Hobbit where Bird had been burned. Holly dutifully looked the patch over, noting there was no blistering or open area. Applying a thin layer of unguent to it, at Volondil’s insistence, she wrapped it lightly with a linen strip, all the while giving a list of directions to Bird on how to keep it clean and well and to let her see it again tomorrow.
None of which Bird heard. She stood there staring at her hand which still lay on the open palm of the Ranger. Looking at it, as if it were someone else’s hand. Volondil, too, seemed just as captivated by the sight.

‘I hate to break this reverie,’ thought Holly to herself, ‘but it looks as if the rest of the companions are also up, which means we may leave soon.’ She picked up the leather vest, and cleared her throat several times to catch their attention. ‘Here, Bird, help him with this.’ Reluctantly, the shape-changer withdrew her hand from his, and took the vest from the Hobbit’s hands. ‘Put it on over his tunic and lace it tight for support.’ She watched as her friend’s small, nimble fingers pulled the lacings tight and deftly tied them.

‘Now help him out to the fire. Perhaps you two can conjure up some breakfast for us. Send Olo in here. We’ll get his belongings packed and the tent blankets folded.

Olo came, bringing her a hot cup of tea with a generous dollop of honey. They stood for a few moments, sipping at their drinks. Then, setting them down on a flat-topped rock, they quickly squared away the Ranger’s quarters. Holly glanced toward the campfire where Bird sat toasting thick slices of bread on a forked stick, engaged in some engrossing topic of conversation with Volondil, or so the Hobbit thought it must be, since neither of them noticed the charred surface of the toast or the smoke that was beginning to stream from it.

The toast caught fire, and Bird waved it wildly in the air – only to have the flaming missile come flying through the air and land close to Holly’s feet. Bird shrugged at Holly and burst out laughing, as did the Ranger, quite unwisely. Not even a tightly laced vest could spare him the discomfort of a deep belly laugh.

Olo stared at the burning toast on the ground, and chuckled. ‘Breakfast is served, I take it.’ His eyes glinted with humor. He pulled the wizened apple from his breeches pocket and rubbed the lint from it on his sleeve. Taking his small knife from its sheath, he cut the apple in two and offered half to Holly. ‘Better eat this.’ he said. ‘It looks to be a considerable time ‘til the next course arrives.’