When Things Are Set Right

Doubts

Aeryn woke with a start in the muted light of early morning. She had fallen asleep on the bare ground some time after midnight. Her bones felt stiff, her neck ached where the man choked her, and the wound on her arm throbbed.

She peaked beneath her bandage and grimaced. The stitches she performed on herself in the low light with her non-dominant hand would leave an ugly scar.

A few feet away, Grim slept upright, propped against the log. Beads of sweat coated his forehead. His complexion looked grayer than it should. He breathed heavily and turned his head, frowning in his sleep.

He needed more medicine.

She rechecked the stores of her herbalism kit. The supply of gingerwort concerned her least. The herb grew all over Ravenwood.

She might need some fever sorrel if his temperature remained high. It usually reduced fevers and made the person comfortable, though it wouldn't fix the cause. So hopefully Grim was only hot and sweaty because of the wool blanket, not some brewing infection.

She fed fresh kindling to the dying embers of the campfire, and set the kettle beside the smoldering logs. Weaver landed nearby to investigate as she shredded herbs and tossed them into the cup. Finding this dull, the blackbird fluttered to Aeryn's shoulder and attempted to preen her hair.

"I know. I'm a mess," Aeryn said. Her life circumstances didn't allow her much room for girliness, but meticulously neat hair was one thing she prided herself on.

There were more important matters to attend to this morning.

Her eyes wandered to Grim.

He was no native to the southern provinces. If she wasn't sure before, she was now. The humans of Thoen tended to stand only slightly taller than the elves, with dusky complexions and light brown to black hair. Even the humans in neighboring Illwali were almost exclusively dark-haired with tan skin and dark, almond shaped eyes. Grim was too tall, too pale, and too blonde to be from around here.

He resembled the brash Northern mercenaries she saw pass through town as a child.

How did a Northerner end up in the southern mountains as a slave?

The kettle sang. When she finished a dose of tea for herself, she got to work on a serving for Grim.

He needed his own cup.

She'd figure that out later. The first priority after Grim was treated and situated, was her old campsite. She needed to bury those bodies, or whatever was left of them.

Grim gasped awake. He cast a bleary-eyed gape at his surroundings. "My gloves. I need them."

Aeryn crouched beside him.

"You mean your gauntlets? They're over there." She burned her fingers on his forehead, and frowned. "How about some medicine and food? Good morning, by the way."

Grim blinked at her, perplexed. "Herm said never take them off."

"I don't recommend putting them back on. They'll probably make you uncomfortable. And sick, if you eat with them. They're filthy."

Grim's jaw chattered. His eyes passed over the camp again, then refocused on Aeryn, full of confusion. "Eat them?"

"Here. Medicine," she said. She put the cup into his free hand. "Do you remember my name?"

He gulped the tea, winced as he swallowed, and shook his head.

"It's okay. I only told you four times yesterday. I'm Aeryn. You're in Ravenwood forest. I found you yesterday," she said. "Sound familiar?"