Howl's Twisted Castle

28: Never waking up

The book I borrowed from Alex proved to be a treasure trove of information. Through it, I was able to compare the suturing method used in the book to the stitching I had performed on Howls arm. Of course, my stitching wasn't nearly as nice as the pictures in the book, and the more I looked at his arm, the more I saw the flaws in it, but that being said, I was happy to know I had the foundations of a good healer.

That certainly didn't mean I wanted to sew anyone up anytime soon. No, once was more than enough for this lady.

The book helped me understand suturing and it outlined a few markers to pay attention to; redness, swelling and discharge from the wound was bad, but warm pink and dry was good. 

As I flipped through the pages, I kept a careful watch over Howls condition. To my relief, it looked like my hard work had paid off. Messy stitching aside, I couldn't see any swelling or discharge, but that didn't mean we were out of the woods just yet. I touched Howls forehead which still felt dreadfully warm. I couldn't wake him up to give him the remedy so all I could do was wait. And that got me to thinking about my other problem. 

Alexander Davies. Who was he exactly? 

My initial impression was that he was a curious and intelligent man who found joy in finding new information and who reveled in the art of conversation. Try as I might, I liked the man, but I just couldn't understand how such an intelligent person could have that Witch for a student. 

***

At one point during the afternoon, Maggie came to check on us. With all of her motherly concern, Maggie had me striped of my clothes in an instant so that she could wash them. It all happened so quickly that I thanked the Lord that Howl was asleep. The thought of him seeing me in a shift and nothing else, mortified me.

To replace the clothes she pilfered, Maggie gave me one of her spare muslin nightgowns. It was thoughtful, but the issue was-- well-- it just wasn't wearable. The fabric was soft, but if I held it up to the light, I could see straight through it. To remedy it, I snatched one of the robes off of the door and double knotted the sash before anyone could see me.

Immune to my struggle for modesty, Maggie left a muslin shirt for Howl and instructed me to change out his clothes so she could wash them. Howl was no a small man and when I asked if she would help, she insisted that the only person she was inclined to disrobe was her husband, and left me alone to ponder my current predicament. 

Most of Howl's shirt was removed from when I had fixed his arm earlier, so all it took was a few tugs to get his other arm out. Getting the spare shirt on him, on the other hand, proved to be no easy task. 

Anytime I had seen Howl, he wore a suit, so I never noticed how broad his shoulders were, or realized how tall he was, until I was this close to him. At last, when I finally wrestled the shirt on him, I discovered that it fit a bit too tight across his chest. Because of this, I opted not to button it up all the way and tucked half of the shirt under his injured arm. 

As I fastened the remaining buttons, my eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual on Howl's skin, and when I pulled the shirt down, I found a rather large scar that marked his chest. I covered it soon after, reminding myself that I had more important things to tend to, like his fever which still hadn't abated. 

I covered his forehead with my hand and felt the warmth radiating from his damp skin. If I didn't bring down his fever soon, all of my hard work would be for naught.

I clipped away a few of the little white buds from the feverfew plant and dropped them in the kettle by the hearth, taking care not to burn my hands on the cast iron. Using the metal poker, I pushed the kettle back on the flames and waited.