Continued from Book of Days: Explaining the Unexplainable by Yllfa.
It must've been over two weeks, perhaps three, since it happened now. From the improvised sick bed inside my home, I feel both trapped and safe at the same time. A prison with golden bars, wide open gates and no locks to speak of; a place where you are free to leave at any time, and yet you cannot, for your own body forbids you to. Within this gilded jail, time will be both your friend and your enemy; for time is what you need, and still it grows so meaningless when all your days are the same. Every hour, every second, all the same… and still, one second can change your life, put everything on hold, and possibly even kill you.
Yes, one second. Just one fleeting moment of looking away, of putting my foot where it did not belong. That was all it took to raze and tear down all the strength and mobility I had built for myself over the years, and leave me a broken, crippled mess for weeks and months to come. My body, my muscles, my bones, my spirit, my heart - the very essence of a man is strongest when held together, but some of those things are indeed stronger than others. This time, it was my bones that would not hold. Perhaps due to age and drinking too little milk, perhaps my own body was just too strong and heavy a force for itself in the fall, perhaps it was only a sheer unfortunate accident or fate inclined, or all those things combined.
Truly, what a mess a man becomes in times like these. My dear Ethel comes to me while I’m bedridden, and she’s carrying a plate of drink and bread for her poor, hungry and frustrated father. And I can do nothing but let the women care for me like a crippled old man, even though I ache to get up and walk, to run, to ride, to do just about anything at all. But that is not my fate today, nor will it be for a long time that lies ahead of me. Yllfa comes in soon after my girl, to double-check the dressing and the hardwood splint. She will not leave me a cripple, without any chance of walking again. No, I know she’ll make me heal and mend as fast as possible, and she will do it well. As far as bad luck goes, I’m indeed very fortunate to have the greatest of carers in my house. I sigh and reluctantly put my head down upon the soft, linen-wrapped pillow, and a grunt follows as a jolt of pain shoots through all of my left leg again, just like it did when it first happened. Wounds I have taken, from arrows, cuts and blows, and pain is not new to me, but I’ve been fortunate enough to never break a bone, save a cracked rib or two perhaps. Until now.
It was such a silly accident, too. For it was nothing more than an ordinary walk around our homestead in Bancross, as I heard Ethel calling out for her dog. I looked in her direction for a moment while walking down the hill towards the foaming river, and I stepped on something slippery in the grass. I know not what, and it does not truly matter. But fall I did, my foot twisting under me, and the sudden sound of a “crack”, like the breaking of a thick twig, came to my ears as I noticed the foot itself suddenly pointed in another direction than it should, which seemed very strange to me. I didn’t understand at first, nor did I feel any immediate pain, much thanks to the initial shock. Bema’s beard, what had just happened?
I looked down at the foot and tried to move it, so I could get up again and continue my walk. Just a simple sprain, I thought. But it didn’t move. Instead, I laid my hands upon it to turn the foot myself. And I couldn’t. The pain came rushing over me like a waterfall of thorns and fire, as the broken bones grinded against each other and the torn muscles and sinews with a malicious, burning sensation that might as well have been the hounds of hell gnawing on my leg. I dragged myself up the slope as best I could, using my right foot and my hands to crawl backwards until I was at the top. My left foot still burned.
“Ethel!” I cried out as loud as I could.
“Come here! Something happened and I can’t move!”
She came running on light feet worthy of a graceful doe in spring, and she could only manage a gasp when she saw the state of my very wrong-looking left foot.
“Papa! Your foot! What did you do?!”, she screamed back at me. I didn’t answer, for all I could do was breathe to try keeping the pain at bay.
“I’m getting Yllfa and a cart. We need to get you to the barn, RIGHT NOW!”
And with that, she rushed away, leaving me for a few moments in a bit of a panic and questions left unanswered. How did this happen? Why did this happen?! No answers came to me, and I eagerly awaited the help. This was truly something I would not simply walk away from, no matter how desperately I wanted to.
I do not recall all of what transpired next. I remember being lifted up on the cart by the women and the help of a local farmhand, and I remember being in the same bed where Duncadda had been treated only weeks before, and Yllfa’s hands cradling my broken foot and feeling with her fingers over every inch of my ankle, to assess and evaluate the damage. Every brush of her fingers felt like hot coals upon my skin. She gave me a potion of sorts, one of her strong homebrews, and told me to drink it all quickly and breathe for a few minutes, and prepare myself. The pain that soon followed was immense, overwhelming and even breathtaking, as she then took a firm grip and twisted the foot back to where it belonged. I remember screaming, and I remember the “click” I felt in my foot as something was put back where it should be, or possibly even out of position again - for it was impossible to tell through the pain.
Seconds later I fell asleep, blissfully knocked out by either the pain, or the potion, or both. Hours later I would wake up again, and thought it all had been a dream, until I looked down at the thick bandages and hardwood splint that held a tight grip of my left lower leg, which ached terribly in every way one could imagine. Yllfa sat at one side of the bed, and Ethel on the other. Both looked worried, but also relieved with their sad smiles upon their lips. Yllfa spoke in another tone than what I’m used to hearing. It was the healer side of her coming out again, that caring woman I had so badly fallen in love with, as she stroked my arm and told me just as it was, without bundling it with rose petals. Straight up facts, just the way I needed to hear it.
“You’ve broken your foot badly, dear. Your calfbone has snapped off near the lower end, and I believe you have other fractures around the ankle, perhaps even bone splinters that I will need to cut out when the swelling goes down. There will be no walking or riding for you for several weeks, perhaps months. You will stay in bed and keep the foot high, so I can treat you properly when the swelling goes down. You have to let it heal and mend, or you may never walk upon two feet again if it goes ill. Do you understand?”
The realisation of what had just happened finally dawned on me, and she gave me another potion to drink. The taste was… far from pleasant, but I knew that it would help, and I drank it eagerly.
“This will ease the pain, and let you sleep. Give it time, dearest. We’re here for you.”
Blissful sleep came over me once again, and I dreamt of walking over green fields covered with symbelmynë and other flowers, and I saw wild horses running in the distance. Yet in my heart, I knew I would not walk like that for a long time to come. But dreams are our escape, our final retreat from the horrors of the real world. In dreams we can be strong, frightened, or heroes. We can fly, we can run, we can do anything, and we are still safe. In dreams, we find ourselves in places we’d never think to look. I will always have my dreams. And in my waking life, my bones heal more and more with every day and week that passes by. One day soon these broken bones will be mended, and I will walk again unhindered over those bright green fields, as if this incident had never happened, and it would all feel like just another bad dream.
