Litany of Thorns

Ch. 2

Rest came easy to Caillin and he spent the long night dreamless and comfortable in a swaddle of blankets. The squawks and squeals of fowl out in the coops signified the coming of sunrise, even if the light was so obscured by the thick canopy of broad leaves that only a few dappled streaks broke through. Neither woke Caillin from his slumber and his sisters would not dare disturb him, and so he slept far into the late morning. The chill, crisp winds rattled the shutters of the boy's bedroom window, carrying in the gentle and fragrant scent of rain and wildflowers. It was broken only by the hint of something smokier through the cracks in the floorboards.

Frying eggs and vegetables. Caillin stirred.

The sound of footsteps against creaky floorboards beneath his bedchambers, shuffling figures in the kitchen that grew louder and bolder as the morning ended, was pleasantly familiar. Although disturbed he had yet to shake away the grog of a long night's sleep. He remained tucked under his sheets as if afraid of the cold beyond it, half-lidded eyes lazily looking out of the window and into the thicket beyond. The boy's stomach grumbled and groaned in protest, louder with each passing moment until it finally dragged him free from the possessive claws of sleep. The smell served as ample encouragement to pull himself up and kick his legs out over the cot. His bare feet touched the rough wooden floor.

Whimpers of discomfort escaped his throat as Caillin forced his arms to reach up above his head and his legs to extend in a drawn-out stretch. His limbs had been pulled up to his chest almost the entire night and they were sore; every inch of him was. Once his arms extended towards the sky the boy froze. His mind snapped to thoughts of what had happened the night before. Immediately he reached for his side, grasping to cover what he was so sure would be an open wound. His touch was firm but shaky, and he dreaded the sharp pain of a cut and the sickening sensation of a damp warmth.

It never came. Was he not injured? Was his journey the day before just a bad, bad dream?

Caillin's fingertips brushed against the dry material of bandages that were coiled and tied around his torso. It was not stained with blood as he expected, and instead as he pulled his fingers away he found them smeared in a fine, mint-green dust. He tugged at the bandages with an uneasy grip and the knot came away without resistance. Beneath it was a thin coating of green, no longer moist but instead a dried paste that barely held to his skin. Most of it came away with the cloth, falling loose and disintegrating, while the rest crumbled as he pulled at it like a scab. Caillin expected to find the bumps and ridges of frayed flesh beneath the coating as he picked at where he remembered it being the most tender. The sensitive sting was seared into his memory.

All that Caillin found was soft, smooth tissue. Fresh, unblemished skin had wholly replaced the harsh wounds that once marred it. Not a single scrape or scar, at least not new ones, and once the last remnants of herbal residue were plucked free from his skin it looked as if he had never been afflicted with them at all.

Magic or no, Iselin's salves could perform miracles.

With a deep sigh Caillin sunk back into his pillows and let his arms spread outwards, bundled quilts and cushions supporting his head and back. The weight from his shoulders felt lifted and the ache in his muscles faded. He stared at the ceiling for a prolonged moment; although he had been relieved of his injuries Caillin hardly felt at peace. Gazing up at the cobwebs that stretched out across the wooden beams that held up the thatched roof would only distract him for so long. Recalling the day before in deeper, more vivid detail, he doubted he would feel a sense of comfort for some time. Too much had been left unfinished in that wood.

Caillin needed to be back out there in the forest. The depths of the wood sang sweetly to him and he could feel it tugging him back in. That was nothing new, but today it called for a different reason. He had a purpose in mind beyond the thrill of exploration, or the desire to provide for his sisters. There was a curiosity he had to satisfy. Convincing his sisters to let him go back out into the woods again would be hard won but he needed to go.