Waking up was a slow and tedious process. First thing he realized was that he wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, he felt scorching hot, bathing in his own sweat, his feverish skin feeling all too thin and dry. He could taste herbs in his mouth. Could smell the scent of them in the air. There was something soft and raspy on top of him, covering him from the waist down. A blanket, his overly sensitized fingertips told him. His left shoulder felt like it was on fire. Every breath he took felt like it was stretching the wound open, tearing it larger.
He dared a quick peek, cracked his eyes open just the slightest bit. Roof above him looked familiar. But the light that came from his left was all too bright and he pinched his eyes shut again, cursing silently when flickering flames of the fireplace kept still dancing behind his closed lids, ruining his eyesight and making him nauseous with their twirling.
“I know you’re awake,” voice came from somewhere further from the room.
“Yes…”
“What part of coming home in one piece did you not understand?”
He cracked his eyes open again, squinting against the light and licked his chapped lips. Marie was standing by the bed.
“Thirsty…”
“Wait a second.”
It was too big of an effort to speak. The whole world was spinning wildly. Then Marie was there again, and there was something cold on his lips. Snow?
“You’re too sick to drink. But this should help a bit.”
It wasn’t just snow. It was more like ice, and tasted slightly bitter. Some herbal remedy. Frozen. Icy slush felt good on his tongue.
“The boy…” He croaked when he felt good enough to speak again.
“He’s chopping wood. Hard worker that one. Where did you find him?”
“Enoch…”
“What about the one you went after? Is it over?” Marie asked. He thought about it. Thought about it long and hard. Then almost shook his head, but nodded instead, bitter tears burning at the corners of his eyes.
“It’s over…”
She wasn’t all too sure of whether to believe him or not. Logan had never been a good liar, and there was something in his eyes… Whatever it was, he wasn’t done with his quest. For now he was forced to lay low and allow his body to heal. He might even think that he was going to stay home with her for good now. She knew better. He couldn’t live with himself if he knew there were monsters out there in the world, worse yet, monsters that he at least partially was responsible of.
When Logan’s eyes drifted shut and his breathing evened she gathered the soiled bandages she had laid on to the floor earlier and threw them in to the fireplace. She had no idea of what Logan had used when he had made his bullets, but it had been something bad. A nasty infection had settled in to the wounds, making his shoulder and cheek swell twice to their original size and bleed disgusting, foul-smelling puss. His cheek was already slightly better, but his shoulder seemed to get worse no matter how often she cleansed it or how carefully she applied cleansing herbs on it.
She sat in front of the fireplace just as the door opened and the boy scurried in with an armful of logs. He was surprisingly strong. Tall and skinny for his age, but hard worker. She still couldn’t imagine how he had managed to jostle Logan back on to his horse when he had lost consciousness in the woods.
“Hungry?” She asked. The boy shook his head and sat by the bed, his whole attention riveted to Logan.
“How is he?” The boy asked. She sighed.
“No better than earlier. But not worse either…”
“That should count for something. Right? If he’s not getting worse, he’s going to heal, right?” The boy asked. That’s when it struck her for the first time.
Logan was really sick. There was no telling if he was going to push trough. So far nothing she had done had had any effect on his condition.
“He’s going to get better, isn’t he?” They boy asked.
She tried to answer. Something light and easy. Of course Logan was going to get better. Of course he would heal. Of course. By this time tomorrow he’d be up and running, planning the best course of action of how to track down anything and everything lurking in the darkness.
She couldn’t bring herself to lie.
She tried to tell the boy the truth, not succeeding in that either. When she opened her mouth to speak out came only a strangled whisper that turned to uncontrollable sobs.
She couldn’t cry. Now wasn’t the time to start blubbering and weeping. But she was unable to stop. Unable until the boy suddenly jerked up from where he sat as Logan struggled, first on to his side and from there to half sitting, half crouching over the edge of the bed.
“I’m not dead yet, witch… Do your goddamned work… Heal me…”
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