Holt walked his new charge back to his village, supporting the much larger Den the whole way down the path of destruction the stranger had caused. Den hobbled along slowly, occasionally letting out sharp gasps of pain. His hobbling along told Holt he was more injured than he was letting on. It was to be expected really. That crash utterly destroyed his ship. Of course it would damage Den as well.
Once the pair had cleared the forest, Holt beheld a sight never before seen. What must have been all the denizens of Lod had gathered in his backyard. From the Mayor Berk himself, his short stubby fingers on his top right arm stroking his dry chin scales, to a tiny girl child hiding behind her mother's leg at the sight of the stranger.
"Holt Percher!" the unmistakable voice of his mother called out from the crowd. Mrs. Percher was a little woman, but with the temperament of a giant. As she shoved her way to the front, still wearing her dingy white apron as she stomped her way over to Holt, she continued berating her son. "I cannot believe you! Running off towards something so dangerous? You could've died! You had me worried sick."
As she stood there berating her son, all four hands on her hips, Holt lowered his head. It was the shame that could only be felt by your mother yelling at you. However, when she had turned to see the thing her son had brought home, her yelling stopped. The frown remained on her face though as she examined the stranger.
Den, meanwhile, had finally lost the last little bit of strength that he had left. There was a soft groan as his arm slid off of Holt's shoulders and he collapsed to the ground.
There were mumbles from the crowd. "Is he dead?" "What is that?" "Did it come from the falling star?" Holt ignored all of them as he struggled to lift the man off the ground. He was heavy, even for a strong lad such as Holt. Mrs. Percher helped her son, mumbling curses under her breath as Den was lifted off the ground. There were light sounds of metal hitting metal as Den was carried towards the crowd. And Mrs. Perchers mere mumbling turned into shouting.
"Get out the way!" the Percher matriarch shouted. "And all of you go home! Don't need you all butting in! He just needs rest!" There were still occasional mumbles from the crowd as they started to disperse, but they were quickly silenced by a vicious looking scowl from Mrs. Percher. By the time her and Holt had carried the unconscious Den across the backyard and into their house, all of the crowd had started making their way back to their homes.
"Hollis!" Mrs. Percher yelled out as she and Holt burst into the front room of their house. "Get our first aid kit out! We've got an emergency!"
Holt and his mother brought Den into the family room as his father hurried into the room. Mr. Percher was carrying the box with the red cross in the crook of one of his large arms. He still had dirt on his scales and work clothes, having not cleaned up since he got in from the mines. However, he had a very serious look on his face as Holt and Mrs. Percher dumped Den onto the long coffee table.
"A Terran?" Mr. Percher said, kneeling down beside the table and opening up their first aid box. It was a word that Holt had never heard in his life, but it sounded like his father knew what Den was.
"All the way out here," Mrs. Percher said as she pushed up her sleeves. She could spot the stains of his blood along his leg and began very carefully pushing up Den's pants leg. What Holt saw caused his lunch to attempt coming back up.
Smaller jagged pieces of metal, probably none larger than Holt's little fingers, had been lodged into Den's leg. Blood was pouring out slowly along the wounds. The crimson fluid had to be blood. Whatever this man was, he definitely was not an Abellan nor a Canaanite. As far as Holt knew, they had silver blood.
"Holt," Mrs. Percher said as she looked at her son. "He crashed down in a starship didn't he?" Holt simply nodded in response, not wanting to look away. As soon as he nodded, his mother pushed up Den's shirt. The pilot's stomach was littered with bruises, some looking very dark and just overall nasty.
"Oh jeez," Mr. Percher said. He had gotten tweezers and a handful of bandage wrappings out of his box. Slowly he had begun pulling the shards free. With each one that was loosed from his flesh, Den's leg twitched and he let out another groan. There would be a sudden surge of blood that Holt had to look away from after the first, followed by his father using some of the wrapping to soak up the blood.
"Holt!" Mrs. Percher called out. Holt had been spacing out watching the procedure, he hadn't even heard his mother repeatedly calling for him. She continued once he finally faced her. "He was talking earlier right? And he wasn't spitting out any blood?"
"No ma'am," Holt responded.
His mother was working on getting Den's coat off when he answered, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Once you get the leg wrapped up, he's just gonna need some rest. No danger of losing him in the night." Mr. Percher just nodded as he wrapped up Den's leg. The bandages were slowly getting stained as the bleeding continued, but Mr. Percher just wrapped them even tighter.
"Won't that hurt him?" Holt asked. He had occasionally glanced up at Den's face. He looked like he was sleeping, but it looked as if he was having a very horrible nightmare.
"Pressure is most critical to stopping the bleeding," Mr. Percher stated. "He's lucky those things didn't go deeper, else I would've had to stitch them up. And I'm not nearly as good as I used to be."
"And he's just battered," Mrs. Percher stated, finally getting Den's Coat off. "Not broken. A good night's sleep and some food in the morning. He'll be just fine. Oh." She dropped Den's coat to the floor, her eyes wide as she saw something. Both Holt and his father joined her on her side of the table, looking at Den's arm just like she was.
It was a tattoo. A strange face with a stranger hat. The face was painted white and a red star around its left eye. The hat had three tails that drooped down with the weight of heavy golden bells. This strange face was in the center of a circle. No, an oval.
No. A zero.
"A Fool," Mrs. Percher mumbled. She then stared over to Mr. Percher. It was the first time Holt had ever seen his mother look as worried as this.