Thornwyn Mossbrook's Arc

Chapter 22 of 38

The elf's breathing shallowed before the sky changed. Thornwyn kept her hand on the girl's hands, and the girl kept her hands on the elf's side, and the blood kept coming through all of them. The fire had burned down to coals. Thornwyn could not reach the wood pile without moving her leg, and moving her leg meant lifting pressure off him. "Girl," she said. "Look at me." The girl looked up. Her face was streaked and dry. "I need the needle from my pack. The waxed thread. The small knife. Bring them to my hand. Don't take your other hand off him." The girl slid one hand out from under Thornwyn's and reached across the dirt. She dragged the pack close with her fingers. She found the tin. She brought it back and set it under Thornwyn's palm. Her other hand never left his side. Thornwyn opened the tin. The needle was there. The thread was there. She could not see the wound. "Chimera," she said. The hybrid on her legs raised its head. Antlers, wolf-set shoulders, the heavy chest of a bear. She had summoned it days ago and it had not left her since. "Stand over him. Close. Blot the wind." It rose. Her legs went cold where its weight had been. It stepped across the elf and lowered its body until its belly hung a hand above his chest. The coals brightened under the draft it cut. "Girl. Blow on the coals. Small breaths. Don't lift your hand." The girl bent and blew. The coals reddened. A thin flame lifted. It was not dawn but it was enough light to see red from cloth. Thornwyn could not sit up straight. She rolled onto her hip and dragged herself along his side until her face was near his ribs. The girl lifted her hands when Thornwyn nodded. Blood welled. Thornwyn saw the tear. Deep, but clean at the edges. She threaded the needle by feel. Her hands were steadier than her leg. "Hold him," she told the girl. "Press his shoulders down." The girl climbed onto his chest and put her weight there. Thornwyn stitched. Six passes. He made a sound on the third and stopped moving after the fourth. She tied off. She could not speak the binding words. Her magic still would not come. Stitches would have to hold on their own. She packed the wound with moss from her pack and pressed a folded cloth over it. The girl slid off his chest and put her hands back on the cloth. His breathing steadied. Shallow, but steady. Outside the shelter, gray came into the trees. Thornwyn looked past the fire to where the piebald deer lay on his side, long tail flat in the dirt, and did not look away for a long time. Then she looked north, where two riders had gone, and knew they would come back with more.