Aria Blackwing's Arc

Chapter 3 of 24

By midmorning the fire had burned low and the shelves told the same story they had the day before. Aria stood in the middle of the cabin and made herself count out loud. Half a strip of linen. No salve. Three splints. A heel of bread. The owl needed fresh dressings by evening. Derek's wound would need washing again by night. She could not stretch what was not there. She pulled the red cloak down from its peg and fastened it at her throat. Derek watched her from the hearth stones, his bandaged arm resting on his knee. His blue eyes tracked her hands. "You're going to the village," he said. "Before the light turns. I can make it there and back if I don't stop." "Let me go." "You can't stand on that leg for an hour, let alone four." She knelt by the nest of cloth and checked the owl. The small bird blinked up at her, round golden eyes calm, splinted wing tucked. "Keep the fire steady. If the owl wakes, put a drop of water on your finger and hold it near the beak. Don't lift the wing. Don't move the splint." Derek shifted forward. "And if someone comes to the door?" She stopped. She had not thought that far. "No one comes here. If they do, don't open it." He nodded once. He did not argue further. She saw him decide to be useful instead. She left with the empty jar in her basket and the list in her head. The path was mud from the storm. The cloak dragged wet at her ankles by the first mile. She walked faster. The village kept its market open until dusk. She traded a bundle of dried herbs from her belt for a jar of salve, then counted her coins onto the counter for linen, thread, and a small sack of oats. The apothecary looked at her list and added a packet of willow bark without charging her. She thanked him twice. She walked back with the basket heavy on her arm and the sky already going gray. The cabin came into view through the trees, smoke rising from the chimney in a thin straight line. She pushed the door open. Derek stood at the hearth with the owl cupped in his good hand. The splint was intact. The bird was awake. A shallow dish of water sat on the stones beside him. "It woke an hour ago," he said. "It drank." Aria set the basket down. Her shoulders dropped for the first time since dawn. She had supplies. Both patients were alive. The choice she made yesterday had not cost her the owl. Then Derek's face changed. He looked past her at the open door. "There were tracks," he said. "On the porch. Not yours. I saw them when I went for firewood."