Lion Head Mesa I'm no good at waiting

the woman slate had gone.

under order of the queen, tamar had learned what herbs to bring, how to wash crowfeather's wounds. she had become an unofficial nurse to him, though they had not spoken much, perhaps barely at all.

today she brought soft strips of skin soaked in a medicinal solution. but she dropped them when she saw the young physician upon the floor of the small room. 

"why did you get out of bed?" her voice was worried, softly scolding. he was the age of her favourite little brother. turning so he would not see the tears squeezing her gaze, tamar swallowed and straightened, meaning to help him slowly upward if he was able.