Whistler's Pass Epilogue, 5108 (short story)
Title: Whistler's Pass Epilogue, 5108
Author: player of Selandriel
The elf caught her easily as she pitched forward, gently cradling the girl's head as it rolled freely on her limp shoulders. Sweeping his free arm around her waist, he slowly lowered her to the ground, a deliberate care apparent in his movements. She was still, save for the occasional rise and fall of her chest indicating she still drew breath. He placed the back of his hand against her forehead and put an ear to her mouth and nose for a moment before drawing his face away from hers.
Concern crept across the elf's features as he started to inspect the girl's wounds, closely eyeing her dislocated shoulder and the opposite shoulder which displayed claw marks that trailed down to the upper arm. Pulling aside her cloak, he frowned at the dark crimson staining its fleece lining and the tunic beneath. Patches of the darkly stained tunic glistened with a slick coating of fresh blood, and the girl's eyebrows twitched slightly as he slid the tunic upward, revealing rent flesh that slowly oozed dark crimson.
The wound was bad, but not the worst he'd seen, and not beyond any help he could administer. He rolled back onto his feet and stood, eyes sweeping his surroundings. Where had he left his pack, and his cloak? Some motion in his peripheral vision drew his attention, and he turned to see the mastiff stirring, slowly getting its legs underneath it again. He smiled at the sight, One less friend to worry about, at least, he thought as he spotted his discarded cloak and satchel. Fetching them, he returned to the girl to find the mastiff lying near her, his head inches from her own.
The elf crouched next to the pair, dropping his belongings and running his hand over the mastiff's head, and scratching lightly behind its ears. "Worry not, puppy. She shall be as well as you soon enough," he said in a soothing voice, perking the mastiff's ears momentarily and drawing a lazy wag from its tail. He continued to pet it for a while, glancing over it to be sure it wasn't seriously injured and decided the mastiff looked well enough. Much better shape than its companion, in any case.
With a short exhaled sigh, the elf knelt down next to the girl, moving his satchel aside and spreading his cloak out on the ground beside her. He carefully slipped his hands and arms beneath her, shifting her limp form onto the garment, cautiously brushing any offending snow from her back and hair.
He pulled the satchel closer now, unfastening its clasp and throwing back its flap. He rummaged through its contents briefly and removed a large leather canteen and a number of large rolls of narrow linen bandaging from within. He neatly arranged these next to the girl before drawing forth a handful of plainly shaped vials from the kit at his belt, adding them to the rest of the items.
Reaching into his boot, he withdrew a murky silver vial and unstoppered it. The vial was tilted over the girl's mouth where he allowed a few drops to fall. He slowly rubbed the liquid over and inside her lips to aid in her absorption of it. He restoppered the vial and slipped it back into his boot. Resting his hands on his thighs, the elf waited. Hopefully, you will not wake up in the midst of all this, now.
The rise and fall of her chest grew more and more steady as the elf watched until finally he leaned forward and found it to be more rhythmic and controlled. He then slipped his hand to his belt where the empty mouth of a dagger sheath protruded from beneath the folds of his shirt and met only air. He glanced around belatedly remembering he had hurled his daggers at the creatures and spotted one still protruding from a prone creature’s neck, the other near to it still covered in this red-black blood.
A frown found his face. Those won't be any good, at least not until I can have them cleaned properly. He straightened his back, hand reaching subconsciously to a third dagger he carried concealed from prying eyes. No, that one won't do either. Likely it would cause more harm than good, he thought, his hand stopping short.
The faintest of smiles brushed his lips as he leaned forward again, gingerly slipping his hand beneath the girl to the small of her back. "I wonder," he said, groping blindly. After a moment’s searching a satisfied smile spread across his face and he pulled his hand out holding a small faenor dagger. "Well played," he said to the girl, testing the edge of the blade carefully.
"Oh, but you'll hate me for this," he said, lifting her coat open and leaning forward again. He brought the blade to the coat's seam, easily cutting through the stitching that ran its length and along the sleeve. He tossed aside the fabric he had cut away from the coat, leaving her arm and the tunic beneath exposed. He repeated the process on the coat's other half. The tunic followed and the vest beneath after as well, seams cut and crimson-stained fabric tossed aside.
The elf inspected the wound in her side again, more closely with his now less obscured view, and cut away the hastily applied bandages loosely covering the area. The bleeding was minimal, and the wound looked relatively clean, though he thought it better to be safe rather than sorry. Who knew what kinds of pestilence those creatures' claws carried. He unrolled a generous length of the wider bandaging and soaked it with water from his canteen, wadding it up and gently cleaning the wounded area.
Satisfied, he repeated the process with her wounded right arm and shoulder and then finally set aside the soiled bandages. He shifted his attention to the other arm, the shoulder now showing some swelling and discoloration. With a deliberate intake of breath, he slowly lifted the arm into his hands and braced his knee on her chest just below the pit of her arm. With a quick snap and a loud pop, he pulled the arm outward, setting the shoulder properly. The girl's brow twitched slightly, but she did not wake.