Flawed Gemstone

The Stranger

The Dwarf staggered through the woods, his gait awkward as each step sent a stab of pain through his leg. He was weak, dizzy with exhaustion, and ready to fall into his bedroll. But he had to keep going. If they caught him, he was in trouble. He hadn't even stolen the goods because of that dratted cat. But he hadn't been caught yet, a small mercy. The woods were his current refuge, and they would have trouble finding him. He continued to push his aching, weary body forward. Just a little farther and he could rest his aching limbs, have a bite of supper, and plan his next move.

The moon was beginning to peek through the trees when things went wrong. He stumbled over a root and a searing pain lit his reality as his leg twisted. He gasped and hit the ground, his fingers clutching at the hastily bandaged wound. The bandages were soaked and more blood coated the Dwarf's grasping fingers. He groaned, too tired to do anything but lay there, whimpering and bleeding. He knew it wasn't good. He'd bleed to death before he woke up, but he just couldn't go any further or even sit up and reach his medical supplies.

After trying to force himself to move, he resigned himself to his fate. It was oddly peaceful as he accepted it. He'd never had anybody but himself, and nobody would mourn him when he was gone. It was better this way. He was tired, exhausted beyond the need for sleep, and his looming death felt like being tucked in to await the darkness.

As he lay there, breathing slowly, his ears caught a noise. After a moment, he recognized it as singing. A group of men was singing a jaunty tune, whistling in between verses. It wasn't the worst song he'd heard. It was homey, comforting, and he relaxed as he listened, his fingers tiredly slipping from his bandages. The singing was getting louder, and he wondered how close they would pass to him. It sounded so nice...

There was a startled yelp and the singing stopped abruptly. The Dwarf could see light through his eyelids, but they were much too heavy to lift.

"What in the world!" a man shouted.

"Oh, gosh! Is he dead?" cried another man, panicked.

"I don't know. Stay here," the first man said.

The Dwarf felt fingers brush across his forehead and his eyelid was opened. The light stung so badly after the darkness of the woods at night. He squeezed his eye shut again, feebly stirring as he tried to swat him away.

"He's alive!" a third man exclaimed. "He's alive, ain't he, Doc?"

Doc's fingers moved to his throat, pressing down to take a pulse. "Yes. He's alive." The hands trailed down to his bloodstained pants leg. "But he's wounded. We need to get him home and I'll take a look at him. Happy, come and help me."

Strong, steady hands grabbed the Dwarf and lifted him from the forest floor. He gasped in a breath at a stab of pain. The one called Doc murmured gently to him.

"Don't you worry. You'll be okay." Then a bit louder. "Dopey, grab that pack."

"It's a good thing we're so close to home," a fourth man said, yawning.

"Yeah," said another, sounding as if he had a cold. "That looks bad."

"Gentle steps and steady hands, Happy," Doc said firmly. "Ready? Okay!"

Each step was a small agony, but the hands held him steady. His awareness slipped for a while but came back when he was jolted.

"Drat!" Doc snapped. "Sleepy, open the door. Dopey, Sneezy, clear the table. Bashful, my kit. Come on, Happy."

There was a scramble of movement and a lot of noise then Doc and Happy grunted as they lifted him onto a flat surface. The Dwarf still couldn't open his eyes, but he stirred a little, his mouth dry and his throat parched. He let out a little croak then his body contracted as he coughed.