Daughter Of The Wind --Western Wind

by Sandra Elsa

Angel wore a rope around his neck, but unless somebody approached, he usually held the end of it himself. He learned to make a game of tossing the rope and catching it, then swinging his head so the dangling loop would wrap around his neck and not trip him. Once over his initial shyness at leaving behind the only world he’d ever known, Angel entertained them as they walked, nearly treading on their heels. It surprised Pink when he spun and galloped back the way they had come.

  He returned shortly and pushed them off the road. Respecting Angel’s reasons, Johann swept the road behind, removing all footprints. In a very short time the boy who had been sweeping the floor in the general store, and a man they recognized from the inn, rode by. Angel, Pink, and Johann hid in the forest until the dust rising from the horses’ hooves could no longer be seen.

  The riders did not return, so conceivably they were just passing through, but that night Pink and Johann's camp was well concealed and their supper cold.

  Two days journey brought them past a village the size of Aldan. Remembering the riders, Johann cloaked himself and Pink in illusion. They took advantage of the small audience to practice their act and managed to earn a meal and a night’s lodging at the inn.

  The evening of the third day saw them just beginning to set up camp, when a traveler came barreling down the road, riding hard.

  He wore the loose shirt and sturdy pants of a simple farmer, and cradled the slight form of a child in front of him. The horse careened to a halt just as it was about to pass. With splayed legs, and drooping head, it refused to move beyond Angel in spite of its rider’s frenzied insistence.

  “Where are you headed?” Johann called out to him.

  The man stopped trying to force the horse to move and answered in a voice thick with weariness, “I’m on my way to Trell to find a Healer. My son was injured by a Telgarn.”

  “And where is the soldier now?” Johann asked, concerned about the possible presence of one of the enemy.

  “Dead.”

  The stranger’s white face spoke his exhaustion. Johann stepped in front of the warhorse as it staggered, threatening to fall. He peered at the child, noting the pale skin and shallow rise of his chest.

  “Get down,” he told the farmer, gently, but in a tone of voice which left no doubt he meant to be obeyed. “We may be able to help.”

  The man handed the child down to him and Johann laid the boy by the roadside.

  Rid of his burden, responsibility turned over to another, the stranger pitched forward and slid down the horse’s neck, landing with a resounding thud.

  The boy’s pulse was weak and erratic.

  Dried blood covered the left half of his face. Pink gently felt the rest of his body and checked his aura, searching for the wounds that were not visible.

  She had been instructed on how to check for broken bones and to feel for torn muscles, and the pooling of internal bleeding, but this was the first time she had put that knowledge to practical use, and she had not expected to need it in such a desperate case, before she was more skilled.

  Johann watched closely, nodding every time she looked to him. Confirming every injury she found and checking to be certain she missed nothing. The head wound was the most deadly. A broken arm, and torn and swelling muscles in his chest would also need attention.

  Without hesitation, Pink gently cleaned the dirt and dried blood from the wound. The jagged cut laid open his skull, but the worst of the injury was the swelling and bruising underneath the bone. She searched within herself. Tugging a strand of the healing energies of the living earth she stemmed the excess flow of blood to the injury, and closed the scalp wound. The skin of her face twisted in a grimace.

  Fighting the nausea brought on by pain, Pink sought the energies of water and used them to cool the site and remove the swelling. With the head wound healed, she turned to the broken arm. Johann helped her pull it back to its proper position and she healed that as well, reaching for the minerals provided by the brown energy of the earth to knit the bone together.

  One arm dangling at her side and her head reeling in pain she turned and touched the boy’s chest, but she felt Johann’s hands on her, pulling her away.

  “He'll live. An important part of being a Healer is to know when you're beyond your limits. Do what you can, but if it isn't immediately life threatening don't push yourself. Your pain may only be phantom pain and will dissipate shortly, but imaginary or not, too much pain can kill a Healer.”

  Pink attempted to stand and a wave of dizziness brought her down, to sit beside her patient. An anxious Angel came forward and gently touched her shoulder. A small wave of energy flowed from him and her pain relented, leaving behind only a slight throbbing in her temples.

  Cautiously she stood and turned to the boy’s father. He had passed out before he hit the ground. The warhorse stood over him, head down, still breathing hard. The mare appeared to have run a long distance.

  Johann stared at Pink, then checked the father and declared, “He’ll awaken on his own.” Together Johann and Pink pulled him over beside his son.

  Stripping the saddle from the horse, Johann cooled her out and tied her to a nearby tree.

  Pink gathered and piled deadwood, the headache threatened to overwhelm her again every time she bent over. Angel hovered just over her shoulder.

  When Johann finished with the horse, he came over and with a small controlled burst of energy, started a fire. They ate supper and finished setting up camp for the night.