Caesaria

XI

"Carter! Carter!" Amelia screamed out the window.

Carter had only just left, barely even out the lodge doors. He'd awoken to the cloudy sunrise, bed still devoid of his wife. He'd said a quick goodbye to her, but she'd only shot him a prickly glance. He felt a modicum of regret for what he'd said the night before, but not even he could muster the courage to apologize for it. 

"She's awake! " Amelia cried.

Before his wife could even finish the chief of the Georgians was already halfway up the lodge stairs, racing to Lucy's room on the second floor. He practically burst the door off it's hinges -- oh thank the spirits, thank the spirits, thank the spirits -- only to see his daughter, groaning, but surfacing from her weeks of sleep. Amelia loomed over her, stroking her forehead, fawning like she would over a babe. 

"Has she said anything?" he asked.

Amelia shook her head. "Nothing yet."

The fog in their daughter's eyes was thick and gloomy. "We're here, sweetheart," Carter spoke, taking her hand. Her fingers were loose and cold. He cupped them close, hoping to breathe some warmth into them; how hadn't he realized she was so cold? How hadn't he known?

Because he'd been too busy doing everything but the one thing he should've. Anybody could've ran things. It's what the Circle was there for. But nobody else could be his daughter's father.

"Please forgive me," Carter whispered. Amelia watched as he blinked away his tears, placing, for the first time many weeks, a loving hand upon his cheek. Her deer's eyes spoke a thousand apologies, and with a flicker of his own, he'd accepted them all. Spirits, she was beautiful. This was beautiful. The room was stale, sweaty, the sunlight blinding, but Lucy was alive. This was everything.

Lucy mossy eyes began to sharpen, the pupils shrinking, focusing. The rheum within them began to disperse, the pain of the daylight starting to subside. Her gaze eventually fell upon her parents, quickly finding their faces.

"Careful, sweetheart. Take your time," Amelia said.

"What hap... did I..."

"Do you remember, Lucy?" Carter asked. Her grip on his fingers was firming, and her hands were warming in the cocoon formed by his.

"I fell. Down a -- no, that can't be right."

Both her mother and father watched her expectantly.

"I fell. I..." she stopped, thoughts retreating. Remembering. "I fell down the falls."

Amelia nodded. "You did. It's a miracle you survived, Lu. Even more a miracle that you'll recover."

The thought struck Carter so suddenly; he almost couldn't believe it wasn't his first idea. "I'll go get Val," Carter leapt to his feet. "I'll be right back, as soon as possible. She'll want to take a look at you, Lu," he said, giving Lucy a peck on the cheek. "I love you, sweetheart," he said breathlessly.

"I love you too, daddy," she smiled a little.

"You'll be just fine," he said. "I'll be right back, Amy."

And so he was. Val's village practice was where the leading doctor spent her mornings and afternoons, so he knew exactly where to look. She'd been stitching up a nasty cut on a young boy's forehead -- training wound, or so he'd said, with a guilty look in his eyes -- and quickly passed the task to one of her apprentices. The wizened surgeon and Carter were back at the lodge before the end of the hour.

The grey-haired woman checked the chief's daughter throughly. She asked Lucy what she remembered, her name, if she recognized her parents. She checked the sling that cradled her broken arm, recounted her broken ribs, carefully ruled out any brain swell or bleed as best she could tell. All in all, Val said, the shield-maiden was miraculously unhurt, compared to the trauma she should've suffered.