...Everywhere

I have never really learned the arts of healing. I know the basics, clean a wound, get some kind of bandaging on it if need be, some things only need ointment, and I have even gone so far as putting a few stitches through flesh to keep it all together and staying put. It was with much effort and shivering and closing my eyes that I did so. Something about the flesh and blood. Blood. Just makes me so weak and light headed.

I knelt before my brave Warrior and slipped my hand against his chest. I wanted to assure myself that he lived. It took a while before I felt the weak thud beneath my slick fingertips. His ribs even grew beneath my hand with a shuddering breath, and I pulled my hand away feeling relief wash like warm rain all over me. My hand was crimson and brown with a little grass thrown in for flavor. I felt my stomach flip flop and I rose, taking wide circling steps. That is when I finally gazed toward the departing Vaci and felt assured they were on their way home.

The sky had darkened, taking on the moth wing gray of coming dusk and I knew there would not be much time before darkness made everything that much harder. I felt better, at least enough to settle back down before the brave Warrior and truly look at him. I saw that blade set before him, capturing the gray of the sky and reflecting it. It looked so large and cruel and dangerous and I closed my eyes inhaling deeply. That allowed a visual of the gruesome scene where that blade had been. Disfigured bodies and blood, and lifeless faces and blood. My eyes sprang open to try and erase the picture, and my focus settled on the blade buried to the hilt in my wild man's shoulder like a wooden dolls shoulder pin. And all the blood seeping around the edges. And all the blood coating his face and the blood on my hand and the blood on his chest ...and..
the..
blood.....