The Lord of the Crows

Part 4 - These Hands

The old woman insisted on going with me to the spring, in case I got any other crazy ideas.

I was ashamed.

I used to bathe often and to take my time doing it, at least when I was not in the war tent. I didn't mind the cold water or a sharp morning breeze and an equally cool day, but the fact that I needed help undressing and getting dressed drove me insane.

"I need a woman to undress and dress me," I hissed at the old lady when I returned from the spring, carrying my shirt in my hands. I somehow pulled on my pants, but I gave up trying to put on my shirt. After all, I needed the new bandages; the wounds were still healing in some places and I was afraid to open them up again. "It's like I'm a baby or an old wom-...", I fell silent and turned to the old lady.

She giggled as she prepared the bandages.

"Well, you're whining worse than an old woman, that's for sure," she rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, granny, I ..."

I didn't really know what to say to her except that I was sorry.

"A young woman took off your clothes, and here you are whining."

I realized that I would not just get away with it and that I was going to pay for my recklessness.

"Young or not, what is it worth to me, when I can't even take off my own shirt, let alone hers. After all, how do you know she's young? Maybe she was one of your peers?"

The old woman tightened the bandage and lifted the shirt to pull it over my head.

"If she was my peer, she would wait for you to get dressed, she wouldn't secretly leave your clothes and run away. And if it was a man ", she was faster, "you would have bathed with your clothes on. So, a young woman it was who undressed you."

"And - as you put it correctly - she ran away, probably amazed by the sight," I added with a grimace. "Sweet love, old woman, don't comfort me anymore, please."

The old woman continued to laugh, though quietly and muffled not to overstep her own decency.

"Hm, can you get me a razor?" I asked abruptly. She considered it carefully, staring at me, and noticed my fingers nervously running over my chin.

"I can shave you. To get you a razor is out of the question. We barely patched you up the first time."

I growled, seriously irritated, even though I knew she was joking and, above all, that she was right.

But she shaved me, cut my hair, and followed me around for the next few days.

When I finally convinced her that I didn't need a nanny and that I was going to ask for help if I really needed one, she finally turned to her own business.

I, on the other hand, turned to wandering through the woods. Although my new home aroused my curiosity, the old woman was not in a mood to tell me much about the people who inhabited it. Every attempt to raise this topic came down to the same thing: this is a shelter for the suffering and abandoned ones. Safe territory. Sanctuary.

I could notice that much myself, walking around the village. As well as something else.

Caregivers wore thin linen tunics of the same, brown color and they were always easy to recognize. There were women and men of all ages and they were all dressed in the same way - brown, long tunics and rough, dark pants. Those like me, always wore white and wide. Easy to take off and put on, as it seemed, although this was a bit questionable in my case. Those in black were accommodated into a separate, larger dugout, separated by a high fence, and did not leave that part. There weren't many of them, and I sensed that they were those suffering from some kind of disease that would spread uncontrollably if someone let them walk around freely. Some died, and some, accompanied by the caregivers and blindfolded, left this place after recovering. Therefore, I concluded - although no special wisdom was needed for that - that this place was, in a way, mysterious and hidden. From whom?