Depth Perception and a Heart of Copper

Chapter 3 - Learning to Walk Again

        There are no words to describe the quantity of pain which can be received from patching up an already infected and tormented wound. One would think that it would feel much better after treatment; that it would begin to itch and heal with time. But nay, no such thing occurred. Not yet, anyway. The burning, the stinging, and the indescribable pain shot through my ankle and caressed my body like a rampant flame. A flame made of needles and stones.

        Needless to say, I was on the verge of tears. All while this wolfman stood before me, watching me as he ate his fetid fish. Dealing with a horribly painful wound awhile smelling such a disgusting stench brought me to the brink of vomiting all over the floor, which was already rusted with my blood. Surprisingly however, I was not alone in the days to come. This large beast, which I've spent my entire life learning to fear and hate, was assisting me with my recovery. It was almost astonishing how careful he was with me in the coming few days. The care he took to build a fire and cook the fish and meat he conjured after I refused his raw road kill was almost admirable. Though honestly, with the hunger pains of starvation over the course of several days, slimy, half eaten, week old fish began to tempt me.

        Though the large beast left me to my own devices to bind my wound the first time around, he insisted -- or rather, nudged me until I stopped covering my hands over my ankle -- that he unbind the fetid bit of leather and replace it with another strip, which he seemed happy to provide. In time, I began to feel myself recover with his assistance. I owe much of my survival to his generosity. That such a creature I once declared to be a mere incarnation of ferocity would turn around and become such a caring and delicate creature was a welcomed change of pace. I could only imagine the other surprises that this beast may hold.

        In what seemed to be several passing days, I finally was able to stand. Walking was a much more difficult task to say the least, my sloppy steps echoing within the shambles of the copper airship. My gun laid on the final step, combined with dried blood and the rust of time. My eyes filled with dizzying green splotches as I stood and limped. Gildalk gave me no assistance here, only watching me as my hands grasped at the broken handrails and dented walls. My right ankle was weak and shaking. It was clear that I could only put so much pressure on it as I leaned against the wall.

        As I stood, trying to gain focus, I realized the relative ease that my back gave me. My earlier thoughts of it being bruised (or worse) were surely for not, though it was definitely quite stiff from sitting for so long. I had a bit of a hunch, not wanting to stress out my back as I applied a bit more pressure on to my right leg. My bone was still broken, or was at least taking too long to heal for my tastes. Readjusting the previously outstanding shard of bone back inside of my leg was certainly no picnic, though at least I knew that everything was still in there. A few minor fragments and perhaps a liter or two of blood escaped during the process. But there are always left over pieces when you put something back together, right?

        Given a few minutes of my aimless attempt to walk, Gildalk escaped into the ship, only to return with a meter-and-a-half long copper pipe, the top partially dented such that it turned maybe twenty degrees in a different direction than its opposite side. The beast looked it over, shoving his large paw into the dented side, the pipe powerless to defend itself as the top bent a decent distance in the direction it was already facing. Though mostly perplexed, it took me until the partially broken side of the pipe stood at a ninety degree angle that I realized what he was doing. He was creating a crutch.

        He handed it to me, not proud of his handiwork. I took it awkwardly, still trying to balance myself against the wall. I shoved it under my right shoulder, my hand fondling the pipe near its midsection. The bent pipe under my shoulder was surprisingly comfortable, though for how long, I wasn't sure. Gildalk, realizing my misfortune with my hand placement, pulled out a knife from his side. My mind filled with emotions of fear and curiosity, mixing itself with the already prominent pain as he stuck the knife deep inside of the pipe, right in front of where I was trying to place my hand. The copper made a relatively abrupt chunking sound as the dagger entered it, the only visible parts of it now being the hilt and perhaps an inch of its blade on the other side.

        I gripped the hilt with earnest, and it was much more comfortable than I expected. I timidly took a step toward Gildalk, the makeshift crutch giving me the support that I needed to waddle forward. It was awkward indeed, but it was definitely the awkward that I needed. I nodded to Gildalk and smiled, and he responded with a relatively creepy and tooth filled grin. I appreciated the gesture, but it was certainly a rather bone chilling sight.

       At this point, it was rather apparent that we weren't going to stay here much longer. Gildak was looking quite hungry, and I was praying that I would not become his meal of choice. I didn't take much; my gun, which contained only three rounds after inspection. Terrific. A few strips of leather that my new-found, furry friend had gifted to me. And of course, the clothing on my back, and the crutch at my side.

        We made our way outside, the way I could only guess that Gildalk had came in. He had to move aside a few large pipes and... corpses, for me to progress at times, and I could only close my eyes and hold my breath when passing the various phantom friends that laid about me. In time, we did make it to the exit; a large gap in the side of the hull that lead to a relatively tattered forest. I was thankful of the trees granted shade, such that the sun wasn't the first blinding thing that I would have to see.

        Broken logs and rotting branches were strewn about, beside what appeared to be a near endless and obscenely thick forest. Frankly, I was expecting to see ruins of a forsaken city, or perhaps the rubble of a mountain trail high aloft the Broken Spires. Both were common in Gizzard's territory, which we were passing over when we crashed. And neither the mountains, ruins, nor forests had anything to do with the lands that wolfmen like Gildalk preferred. The mystery of my furry friend thickened further, and questions began to appear in my mind. Such as where his pack was, why he was out this far, and why in human territory. Raider territory, yes; but nevertheless, still human. I shuffled the questions away, focusing more on the shattered trees about me than the currently irrelevant questions.

        My attention then recalled the wound that Gildalk walked in on me with. The right side that he was clenching while reaching about for his weapon which he couldn't seem to find. Was he attacked? That would explain why he was without a pack. But why so far out here? So far from his own territory? His wound now appeared healed after our days of recovery, though my trust proceeded to wary for my new-found friend. The largest question of course being... why did he save me?