At the sound of elvish, I paused. I did not know what the words meant, but oh, I knew that sound.
Standing beside me, Waelden looked down at his friend. “What was that? Gibberish, delusions?”
“Possibly.” I did not want to speak my thoughts out loud...that a man most certainly off his guard spoke first in the elvish tongue?
“Even that is a good sign though?” Waelden moved to add a few more logs to the fire.
Seeing that this time the potion didn’t trickle from Duncadda’s mouth before he passed into unconsciousness, I leant over him further to check his wounds, both the full beard and common sense telling me to cast aside a sudden urge to check his ears. Had the orcs not thought they were being assaulted by an Elf lord?
“Do you think he will make it?”
“He isn’t dead yet.” I ran a hand through my hair in a gesture of my own agitation, but instantly relented. Waelden deserved truth and kindness from me as much as he offered it to me.
“He may. As you see he has many cuts, and his arm is likely broken. The gash in his head looks worse than it is, but he has lost a lot of blood. His life’s strength ebbs. Keeping him warm, getting sips of water in him, they will both help. But I need to see he is no longer bleeding into the soil.”
“Alright, he can have my cloak if it will help.” My companion folded his cloak, leaving it on the ground within my reach.
I touched Duncadda’s clothing lightly, biting at my lip as I saw blood pool again from the deeper cuts on his arms. The wounds needed cleaning, the deepest of them needed stitching, packing with lichen or moss, and binding with a bandage. Still keeping the man’s head raised upon my lap, I looked down at the near equal number of cuts into his legs. I had seen some dire injuries before, but not many like this on someone still living.
I gave an involuntary gasp, and Waelden turned again to look. Like myself, he would be used to seeing such wounds, indeed it was likely he bore some similar scars himself. I had to push that thought from my mind to concentrate again.
“We still can’t move him?”
I shook my head. “I need to see to his arm if we are to have any chance at that.” I replied. “To be at that angle there is a dislocation of the bone, or a break. Can you help me lift him further so I can check. He is too heavy for me to manage alone.”
After a quick glance to check the fire and the area in general, Waelden nodded to me, and moved to kneel beside his injured friend. Carefully and slowly he raised him, tilting his frame at an angle so I could better reach. Wriggling forward I further used my knees as a wedge under Duncadda’s upper back. Laying a hand with the lightest of touches upon the shoulder of the damaged arm, I was greeted with a grunt of pain. Duncadda’s eyes opened weakly a second time. They widened as he saw Waelden supporting him.
“Iston i nif gind*,” he uttered.
I flashed a glance at the steadying Greybeard, more elvish!
“If you have to speak nonsense Duncadda, then don’t speak at all - save your strength instead” was the gruff sounding reply that concealed concern. I thought then that neither of us knew what had been spoken. “Maybe ‘help me, maybe just ‘good to see you’ I ventured hopelessly.” Waelden was having none of it.
Moving my hand down Duncadda’s arm from the shoulder to the elbow i could just feel what seemed to be a break, corresponding with blood soaked leather.”Could you cut the leather from that arm, Waelden. It is likely holding the injury in place, but I need to see in order to splint it.”
Waelden nodded, and drew his knife. Carefully he sliced through the leather straps that held the armor together, and it fell cleanly off. I stretched out to drag my travel bag to me, searching for the strips of linen, the salve and small pouch of dried lichen I would need if I were to try and set the bone.
As I turned back to my patient, Waelden said ‘Ack, I see, ..it’s broken.”
Duncadda’s arm was indeed broken, with the upper part of the bone breaking through the skin not far down from the shoulder. It was nasty, but in this case I had seen worse.
“I will need some moss, if you can find some nearby. A few handfuls, the drier the better. And I need two straight-ish pieces of wood, long enough to form a splint either side of the arm.” I held my hands apart to show the length I meant, though Waelden likely knew. “I am on to it.” he replied, moving first to the firewood pile and selecting two suitable pieces, then on to search under the nearby trees.
I needed to keep that arm steady, preferably bound across Duncadda’s body. The fractured bone needed to be held in the right place for any healing to begin. Taking out some of the dried lichen from its pouch, I stroked it over the wound with a light touch, and followed that with a thin application of the knitbone salve, though Duncadda stirred and moaned a little at that touch.
“Bone to bone, blood to blood, sinew to sinew,”* I spoke words my grandmother had taught me, as I let the warmth from my hands flow to the break.
Seeing Waelden return with the needful items, I beckoned him to stand by me.
“I may be able to pull the arm into the right position, though I need your aid.”
Waelden nodded silently, moving as I indicated to keep Duncadda’s shoulder in place. Bema was with us at that moment, and Duncadda’s arm bent at the elbow without great issue. I placed the wood each side of the break, then padded the arm with the lichen and the moss, then wound the linen round it to hold all fast against Duncadda’s chest.
As we finished working on his arm, I could see the tall man was becoming more aware, gritting his teeth when I finalised the bandaging and wound a second length of linen about his neck to make a sling.
“There, that will have to do for now. But that arm will make it challenging to carry him all the way back to the horses.”
Waelden was silent for a moment, thinking. “Can we build a stretcher of sorts to drag him on?”
“There is certainly enough wood to try,” I leapt at the suggestion.
“I’m famished…”
The words, though spoken weakly, made Waelden and I turn to face the injured man. Holding back a moan of pain and clearly taking a hard effort, Duncadda moved to sit up.
“I am sure you are.” I said with unconcealed amazement.
Iston i nif gind - I know your face
“Bone to bone, blood to blood, sinew to sinew,”* - Idea from the Second Merseburg Charm, though not suggesting a direct link.
http://germanicmythology.com/works/merseburgcharms.html
