Spontanéité

Not dead, not buried 🔹 snapshot

The Children of Wanderers- in this Realm, at least- seldom come into contact with particularly hostile Peoples, whether rooted or other Realms. Injuries are few, deaths natural and generally not tragic. Again, the General's daughter comes to mind, but there must be a reason for such a terrible incident. Overall, the healers don't often need to attend to serious wounds or illnesses, unless in territories where the People has recently suffered disease or plague, or where the Children of Wanderers aren't accustomed to the climate and become sick.

The fact this Man of the Earth isn't yet dead despite having dragged his bleeding body across the wilderness at night when the animals would have been able to scent him, well, that is highly unusual. Unnatural. Evidence, really, of a Keeper. The healers have been doing what they can to cleanse and help close the wound in a way that reduces the risk of him bleeding to death. It's almost shocking to know he hasn't already. Again, the Keeper's faithfulness must be the reason.

"They're coming," one of the Guards announces, the excitement tangible in her voice and in her grin. Infectiously so. I'm close enough to hear the man's shaky intake of breath and I stand and turn to watch as his wife and adoptive son approach. Beside me, the General smiles as the boy is released and immediately rushes to his 'Badu', crashing into him in a way that must be painful. But apart from a soft grunt, the man shows no sign of it, scooping his 'son' up in his arms with tears in his eyes. His wife walks slowly, each step more like a forced and staggering movement before she crumples to her knees in front of him, her hair wild and tangled, her eyes red and puffy as she reaches out with her hands to touch his face. They do not shake.

"How are you not dead, not buried?" she whispers, and I probably shouldn't be listening in on their private conversation, but I have good reason. That reason being I'm busy picking things up from the pallet and therefore have an excuse to stay.

"I didn't die."

She snorts. "I can see that," she says, her short laugh incredulous. She shakes her head. "I can see that," she whispers.

"I didn't die and they thought I had a spirit in me, so they didn't try again." I stifle my surprise, or at least try to, but when I straighten with a bundle of things in my hands, the General raises an eyebrow at me.

I lift up the bundle by way of wordless explanation.

"They sent me out of the Fortress once the torches were dimmed, so nobody could see and nobody knew, then told me to go where I liked, because I was going to die anyway." He hugs the boy tightly, and the boy sniffs.

I turn away as they kiss, giving them their privacy. "You alright there, healer?" the General asks.

I give her a look. "Very funny," I mumble.

"Still in the habit of listening to other people's conversations, I see," she comments mildly.

"Well, I hope you expected nothing else," I laugh a little. "We aren't old yet, you know. We haven't seen so many season-cycles yet."

Someone calls my name. "Your brother, yes?" I nod. She waves a hand. "Go on. I have a conversation to join that I've been listening to." She grins a little at that.

"What did I tell you? We aren't old yet. Habits we've had for cycles are going to remains for at least a few more." I laugh.

"Go already," she rolls her eyes.

I glance back at the Children of the Earth, the Children of the Keeper who have been so unusually and specially protected. There must be a reason. I wonder. 🔹