Of Gears and Humanity

| 13.1

[ELENA]

Stopping just a few yards north of the buffalos' river, I had Damien sit on a tree stump under the shade of flourishing trees. Carmine found the spot relaxing and stood just beside us, his head down, his eyes closed. I could hear him breathe as I rustled through the bag attached to him.

I would need more than one bottle of ointment.

When I turned back, Damien looked defeated. His feet were balanced on the edge of the boulder, so his knees were pushed up. His arms were on top of them, but I wouldn't say they were relaxed. Every part of him was tense, bothered. Anxious, even. The half pulled top of the guards' gear didn't make the look any better.

He glanced at me as I walked towards him. As I sat behind him, he sighed, closing his eyes. "Whatever's on my back, don't tell me," he said.

I half smiled, even though he couldn't see it. Quietly shushing him, I placed my hand against the back of his head and gently pushed so he leaned forward. With his shoulders relaxed, arms stretched over his knees, I was able to loosen the straps across his back. One by one, I peeled them back, until it was undone enough to tug off of him.

I shifted to the side to look at his face. "This may burn a little," I said.

When he nodded, I looked back at his shirt as I slowly pulled it up and over his shoulders. He helped to a point, hissing as the fabric pulled away from his wet skin. As it dropped beside us, I frowned.

There weren't insects on his skin, thankfully, but he had rashes. Plenty of them. Across his brown skin, I saw deep shades of red and purple; some were in the shapes of circles, others splattered across like spilled ink. I leaned back over to grab his shirt, inspecting it.

What could have caused it?

Damien groaned, shaking his head. "Don't tell me," he whispered, "but the worms are in my skin, aren't they?" He looked up at the sky and sighed. "I knew it. This feels awful."

I dropped the shirt again as I looked at the bottles in my hands. Placing one beside my knee, I opened the other. The smell of the lily flowers used to make the medicine filled the air around us.

"You know," I turned the bottle over so the pink cream would drip onto my palm, "for someone who doesn't want to know what's going on with his back, you sure are asking a lot of questions."

"It's human to ask questions," Damien muttered. When I pressed my palm against one of his rashes, he hissed and tensed. "I'm not allowed to ask?"

Slowly and gently, I slid my hand over the top of his back. The cream covered as many spots as it could before the amount in my palm ran out, and I needed to apply another dollop. I was halfway through the bottle by the time I reached the middle of his back.

"You're allowed to ask." I coaxed him to lift his right arm so I could medicate a rash on his ribs. When he lifted his elbow away, he glanced at me, and I locked eyes with him while under his arm. I smiled. "Asking questions is how we learn," I said.

"I know." Damien blinked at me. "So, am I right to guess that the clothes are diseased?" He looked at the matching guards' pants he wore, tugging at the loose fabric around his knees. "Are the bugs going to attack my legs, too?"

He made his distaste for insects obvious and I had to laugh. There hadn't been a single bug, larva, or anything alive within the top's fabric—which was great, considering I believed he had become worm- lunch within those clothes. And while the material wasn't diseased, they were filthy. I could only assume wearing the old clothes ripped off of a dead man wouldn't do much good for one's skin; Damien's body reacted accordingly.