Blackwater Islands nox arcana

He was hot to the touch. The poppies kept him weightless, mindless; he had stopped his fussing and was quiet, but, his skin burned. He breathed open-mouthed where he sprawled and could not drink enough water to cool himself down. His visits with @Bridget had helped until this recent shift in his symptoms.

Inside of his head where he had come to live, the so-called Harka saw himself within a dark and twisting woodland. Each tree was made of shells intricately wedged together. He was there, alone, and unable to take even a single step.

There was no sound except a rising single tone, growing sharper and sharper. He tasted ash upon his tongue and finally managed to turn himself around. He saw the forest burning — himself, untouched. His black sockets both empty save the candle wax inside, and the flickering of two red pupils.

A moan came then, a kick, a gasp.

loving these medic threads <3 once again, vague on timeline. Prob happens before

He was getting worse. This time when she came, Bridget brought some plants that had been lying on the shore. They held water and would hopefully help to cool him down.

She wished she had her stores. She could not range far enough to gather here, but the Druids were surely assisting as well.

Her mouth full of the plants, she hobbled inside, carefully coming round to where his head rested. He was restless and too warm when she pressed her nose to his forehead. Carefully she laid the plants across his brow and, gently, held them in place.

the listener shadowed bridget in silence. the woman knew something of medicine, she had gathered; she was helping harka. her scent was often on his coat.

she swept into the cave, halting at the gilded woman's side as she pressed plants to his brow. harka has not improved, the prophet observed. he returned from the realm of spirits many days ago. tell me what you would have done for him, before your injury. she said it in the way of one making small talk; a question regarding the weather, a light "how's the old ball and chain?" inquiry as if it held no deeper meaning.

Relief came. It was brief. It wicked away the heat upon his face and softened the ratty, coarse furs there.

The inferno cracked around him. The twisting spires blackened and stood firmly in place. As they cooled, and he looked around at them, they became like ice. Crystalline.

Mmn.. mae... the man called out lowly. He thought he was there in the Hollow. He thought he called for his family, but they didn't hear him or chose not to answer.

Hhh... hypnos... mis, his voice became a whine, slurring.

She heard the Listener come up behind her, but she didn't turn her attention. The question took her a bit by surprise, but it also made her like the other wolf a tick more. Apparently she wasn't above learning, or she at least took an interest in Bridget's experience.

I'd give him willow, for the fever. She said, moving the kelp so that a fresh section was held against the burning. Or there are flowers. Small and white, that grow in a spray. They can help. I don't know what you have on this island. She frowned. But I thought this might help with his temperature.

He was crying out for something. Bridget couldn't understand anything behind the words, but she hadn't been able to make sense of much in any of the time she'd seen him. You're alright. You'll be fine. Her voice was low and soothing, but she did wonder. Fevers could easily be deadly. She wouldn't let it happen without fighting this.

Who is he? she asked the shape behind her. She didn't even have a name at this point.

willow. small white flowers. the listener took note of these things and silently made plans to search later for them. harka would live. she would make it so.

she would hear his message.

harka. a revenant spirit. he has returned from the realm of the dead. he was found upon our shores, tangled in some strange plant from the sea.

The healers spoke, sun and shadow. If he heard their low-toned conversation he did not react to it. There was no chance of waking him as they discussed things; treatments, mostly.

As Bridget adjusted the damp seaweed the haggard wolf moaned. but did not wake. If her treatment had any effect there was nothing to prove it visually except the slightest cessation of his struggling.

It seemed a few things had washed up on their shores. Bridget inspected him as she listened, but could see nothing. Perhaps hidden? If there was a wound gone wrong causing this, that could be a treatment.

Gently she began to shift him, nosing each limb, searching for signs. He was slight enough that she could move him with some ease, rolling him carefully onto his other side, ensuring his head remained cushioned. If the Listener helped, she would accept it, but she didn't ask.

It is not good for a wolf to lay too long in one place. Be sure to move them. She'd learned this.

It isn't infection. I don't know what's causing this. Some illness from the ocean, maybe. If it will help, I can stay here. It might be better to have someone with him. They seemed to be busy elsewhere, but she had little else to do.

the woman worked in silence. the listener watched carefully, and when she had pieced together the intention behind the movement, stepped forward to assist. she offered to stay. you will stay, then, and tell me what you need for harka. the druids will bring it to you, a deliberate pause separated her next words. when the speaker has returned from her task, i will send her here.

The man begins to mumble something in his sleep. He is calm except his voice rises in volume at inopportune times; it crackles, drops away, returns, tide-like and crashing against his teeth. They begin to chatter as he sucks in a breath and is adjusted by one of the caretakers, and then there is quiet again.

Alright.

Bridget sensed that this man had become her responsibility now. Maybe that was in her own mind, but either way, she'd claimed him. She would do her best to see him through and that task began now.

Some patients thrived being left alone, others seemed to respond well to presence and attention. So far he'd fallen in the latter category and Bridget would proceed armed with that knowledge.

She lay down and gathered him against her, his back resting against her side, his head supported and held upon her forelegs. Alright, Harka. Looks like I'll be staying here for a while. If she couldn't cool the fever, perhaps she could help him to burn it off.

They were entering a waiting game now. Assuming the Listener wouldn't stick around, Bridget began to groom the man's pelt, beginning at his forehead and working back towards the hips. With any luck the familiar feeling would help him to slip into a more natural sleep, but at the very least it gave her something to do to pass the time.

Combing her tongue through the rough fur of his forehead, she recalled Towhee's words to her. Can't help but think you'd make a great mom. Fuck, she couldn't blame her, but Towhee really didn't get it. Taking care of her - taking care of him - it wasn't quite the same. She would heal him, or she wouldn't, and either way the job would be done. It wasn't the same at all.

She waited until the Listener had departed behind her, then sighed and lowered her head to rest on the man's shoulder, rising and falling gently as he slept. If she drifted off, it would be light, and any change would wake and alert her that something was wrong.