I salvaged what I could from the other bodies, thoroughly checking that they were all dead this time. Then I went back to the man. I had to get him out of this rain – even into the trees. There was shelter there, and the wolves wouldn't be so interested in a meal that fought back. Fizzy took lots of coaxing, but eventually, I got him to lie down on a bit of ground I'd cleared of bodies. What a well-trained horse, I thought. Then I grabbed the man under the shoulders and hauled him up. He was heavy and slumped against me, his head lolling back and bashing my jaw before resting on my shoulder. I took a moment to avoid dropping the man. That hurt.
This guy didn't deserve me as his nurse. I'd probably end up killing him. He groaned as I jostled his injuries.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, taking a moment to pause. I was tired, cold, my foot hurt too, and I am not even close to being described as physically strong. Most of my heaving of dead bodies had involved inelegant grunting, shoving and rolling.
After a titanic struggle, I finally managed to haul the guy onto Fizzy's withers. Fizzy didn't like it, but I could see he'd been trained to do this because he stood up, with me steadying the man thrown over his back. I tossed the cloaks and cut up tunics over the man, trying to keep the rain off him. Then grabbed the rest of the things and led Fizzy to the trees. After more toil and swearing, I then made several trips back to the battlefield to grab more materials, including the man's sword which had been trapped between him and the Blue man in their final confrontation. I found several waterskins and a sort of gourd. Fizzy stood close to the man as I made trips to the stream for water.
I was beginning to feel like myself again. Albeit a version of myself who was tired, cold, stressed and frightened. But I knew what to do… sort of. I had to make a shelter, I already had water, I needed a fire. But at least I was making progress.
When I got back, the rain had eased off and was almost done in harassing my efforts. The man still hadn't woken up; even when I'd cut my hand and sworn very loudly when making the tent. I'd tied some leather straps from Fizzy's deceased saddle and strung them between two trees at about waist height. Using cloaks hanging over this, I'd made an impromptu shelter. It was easier than attempting a tipi with the spear shafts, which I used instead to hold the sides of the tent out, preventing the cloaks and saddle blankets from sagging. I crawled into the tent and checked on the man. His breathing was regular and even, I felt his pulse, which was also steady. He must be cold, his hands were freezing.
I fought with the fire for what felt like an age, before finally persuading wet wood to burn over wet hair and twigs. Yes, I cut off some of my hair to facilitate this man's survival. He'd better be very bloody grateful, I thought crossly as the acrid smoke stung my nose and eyes.
So I had to wrestle a man out of his clothes again… this was becoming a bad habit. But this time it took a lot longer than previous long efforts, since the man was alive and injured. By early evening, I had managed to strip him to his underwear. The tent's draughts had been combated as best they could, and the man was lying on several pieces of clothing.
It was then that I got a good look at the man. He was very attractive, and had several tattoos on his chest and shoulders as well. The greenish-blue swirl on his shoulder had been mangled by the stab wound, but I didn't think he'd mind. Life was preferable to a ruined tattoo, surely.
I set to work carefully cleaning the wounds. It was easier that he was unconscious – I could be objective and not think about how awkward the situation was. I was also spared any conversation. Bandaging the wounds took time, but I was proud of the final result. The deep wounds on his thigh and side were the most problematic – neither were immediately life-threatening, but I was terrified of infection and had no real way to prevent it.
Fizzy snorted outside – it was a worried noise. I threw a couple of the still slightly damp cloaks over the man and then stuck my head out the tent.
"Fizz?" I asked. It's stupid, I know, talking to animals like they're people. But it gave me comfort. Especially when I was afraid the man would die next to me in the night. I crawled out and stood next to the horse. Fizz flicked an ear at me, but was staring down at the battlefield, quivering and hyper-alert.
Wolves and birds were scavenging the corpses. I felt a little sick. Would they come after Fizzy? Would they smell the man in the tent? I sighed. The ground was still damp, but the firewood I'd gathered was drying by the fire and I felt I could make another fire on the other side of the camp.
After checking on the man again, hanging the remaining clothes and cloaks on branches to dry, and hugging Fizzy around the neck for comfort, I settled down to keep watch with the one intact spear at hand.
Nothing happened that night. One of the wolves trotted over to the camp to investigate, but when I hissed and threw stones at it, it went back to the feast on the battlefield. Fizzy had been terrified, but I'd tied him to a tree. If he'd bolted, the wolves would have been more likely to chase him. And I couldn't lose the horse – he was essential to getting us out of here alive.
Around dawn I crawled into the tent and checked the man. I'd been making checks all night, but he hadn't woken. The colour had returned to his face, and he was warmer, but still not as warm as I'd like. I threw back the tent covers, put more wood on the fires and then lay down next to the man, burrowing under the covers to lie next to him. Maybe shared body warmth would help. And I was exhausted. I fell asleep with my face pressed against his uninjured shoulder. Fizzy woke me a few hours later, nudging me like a puppy with his nose. I rolled over, groaning.
"Fizz…" I moaned. "Go 'way…"
I was nudged again. I felt awful and pushed myself up into a sitting position, knocking my forehead against one of the poles. The sun was out and so were the fires. I groaned again and looked around, taking stock. The man was still asleep! This was remarkably unfair, despite his grievous injuries.
"You bastard," I growled. Then crawled out of the tent and walked to one of the waterskins, wetting my hands and running them over my face. A little more awake but no less grumpy, I fetched more water and decided to do a little laundry – the collar of my tunic had dried and the blood made the fabric stiff and uncomfortable. Similarly my breeches were stiff with mud.
I brought back the water, leaving a waterskin next to the man in case he woke up, and grabbed his blood-stained clothes from the untidy pile I'd thrown them into last night. Then back to the stream. Washing was a freezing affair, but woke me up. I stripped and washed the clothes – scrubbing the various substances out of them with difficulty. Then, with no other option, I wrung them out as best I could and walked back to camp naked. It was a risk, but I wanted the clothes to dry a little more.
When I got back, I pulled on the cold, wet clothes and nearly sobbed at the awful clamminess. Rolling up my sodden sleeves, I hung the man's clothes on branches to dry and checked the ones that I'd put out the previous night. They weren't dry, but were considerably less wet. I decided to tear them apart and make them into more bandages for the man's wounds.
Speaking of which…
I walked over to him and stared down at him. He was actually much younger than I thought… probably my age, or a little older. He needed to wake up. I had to get him to drink something at least. I knelt down and touched his cheek.
"Hey," I said, loudly but gently. No response. "Hey," I said with a little more force, patting his cheek gently. Still nothing. Did I have to really slap him?
I squatted back on my haunches and frowned at him. Eventually, I grabbed the waterskin and sprinkled water on his forehead while talking loudly in a nice tone.
"Please wake up, please… it's the morning – I think – look, please wake up," I patted his cheek again. Finally his breathing hitched and deepened the way it does when people wake up. The long-lashed eyes fluttered and opened slightly. I was amazed to see they were a deep, deep green. They focused on me immediately and were unbelievably hostile.