Caesaria

IV

She was a muscular woman, tall, too. Not as big as himself, but she would hold her own. If she survived her injuries.

Axel saw flashes of his childhood when he looked at her. Mostly of his tribe. The women had been bow-maidens -- ayahka'a, he thought, although he wasn't sure if that was the right word -- with strong arms, broad, tan shoulders, and hair done in complex braids. For a moment, he almost recalled the face of his mother. But he never did. All he ever saw it was an empty, brown oval. He didn't think of her often. Not anymore. Not with that blank, brown face, staring without eyes.

He'd given the girl a wicked dose of opium. She'd been out for a good few hours, sleeping soundlessly. It'd given him the precious time he needed to mend her wounds. Axel was no medicus, but he knew enough of basic medicine to see that she was on death's doorstep.

She was bruised. Her skull had a nasty gash on the left, big enough a wound that she'd have a permanent hairless strip -- although, her black hair was thick enough to hide it. If the rock had hit her any closer to the back of her head, she'd have died of a haemorrhage. Or a bashed skull. Head wounds were certainly unforgiving, but the fact that she hadn't woken up in a feverish fit was reassuring. No brain-bleed then, or so he hoped. The fact that she'd tried to sit up meant her spine wasn't busted, and her legs were even moving as she slept. She had cracked ribs, a broken left arm, cuts, abrasions, and likely a nasty concussion. All in all, for someone who'd just fallen down a hundred-foot waterfall, she was in damn fine shape. But she wasn't out of the woods yet. External trauma was one thing, but internal was another.

He'd stripped her of her leathers, carefully examining her for any signs of internal bleeding. It had been a slow, arduous process, as he didn't want to make the damage worse. He'd seen the medicus do it, and he hoped that would be enough of a crash course. Axel found nothing, aside from a few patches of bruised skin where a rock had hit. Her ribs had the worst of it. If she hadn't spurted or shat blood by the evening, he'd be able to breathe a bit easier.

But Axel had found her tattoos. Strange, yet beautiful. Green knots, delicate images of wolves and serpents and vines. And a colour blocked rodent on her right thigh, outlined in black and coloured in reds and yellows. The rest of her tattoos framed it as if it was a centerpiece, twining up and down the left side of her body, only stopping at her neck as a small, delicate web of vines, leafy tip just ending below her jaw. Only a small patch existed on her right side, on her shoulder. This made it clear; she was definitely Georgian.

He set her bones to the extent of his knowledge, bandaged her, splinted her, positioned her, examined her one more time. He'd done what he could. Now, all he had to do was wait. The hardest part. If she died, then this would all be a failure.