I Am Warrior

Fifteen

FIFTEEN

The small trill of birdsong outside Imogen's window roused her from a sleep so deep that her eyelids seemed to have sealed shut. Every part of her body ached from tension, overuse and injury and the hard bed added extra pressure to her damaged body. Despite this, she didn't think she'd had a better sleep since Samuel had left.

A soft knock at her door had Imogen peeling her eyelids open and pushing herself up onto her elbows, heart pounding, ears alert, mind awake with a snap. She winced at the pain that shot out from her shoulder but ignored it, sitting up and swinging out of the bed. A wave of dizziness had her dropping heavily back onto the thin mattress and the woman who had helped her in entered quietly. She relaxed-- marginally.

'Dear, it's good to see you awake. Are you okay?' She asked coming forward, the picture of concern. She stopped when Imogen visibly tensed at her proximity, only seeming to get more concerned. She held out the objects she clutched in her arms for Imogen's inspection, and once the young woman realised that they were clean clothes, she accepted them meekly.

'Sorry,' She muttered, eyes down with guilt. This old lady didn't know what she'd done. How was she any danger to her at all? 'Force of habit.'

The old woman looked at her pitifully. 'It's a terrible thing when you are forced into that kind of reaction to keep yourself alive. Here, let me help you wash and we'll get you cleaned up.' She offered.

Oh, how Imogen longed for a warm bath and clean clothes! The woman smiled softly at her, knowing that she'd won the younger woman over with her kind words. She grasped Imogen around her waist, helping her to stand and cringing herself when Imogen winced. 'Thank you,' She whispered to the elderly woman.

The woman led her out of the room and into what Imogen only assumed was her section of the house, off limits to all her guests. She helped Imogen into a small section off the main room that held a large metal tub full of still steaming water in the centre, with a dark coloured wooden folding screen with delicate flowers etched into the panels on the left and on the right a small stand with a porcelain jug and basin on top of it for washing hands.

She helped Imogen undress, her jaw dropping further when she discovered that half the blood Imogen wore was her own. She ran her thing small fingers over Imogen's hastily treated wounds, brow creasing when she saw the pink puckered scar that ran from the bottom of her left rib cage and up to her right shoulder, despite Imogen's embarrassment at being studied whilst stark naked.

Shaking her head slightly, the woman helped Imogen into the bath, who let out a soft sigh of appreciation as the warm water enveloped her skin. She bit back the hiss of pain as the heat seeped into her cuts and abrasions, but the sting of pain was well worth the absolute bliss of heated water.

She would have fallen over if she wasn't already seated when the water began to turn slightly pink from all the blood that washed off her body. There was so much of it. As she washed even more, the water began to turn black from all the accumulated dirt. She hadn't bathed in weeks. Using her hands, she cupped some water in her calloused palms and scrubbed her face as clean as she could get it, cringing when even more blood came off.

The woman handed her a small cloth that she could use to wipe away the rest of the dirt and blood from her small body. By the time she had cleaned her skin, the water had turned black as night. The old woman looked stunned, but obediently held out a towel for Imogen to wrap around herself and dry off.

'My dear,' The woman asked softly, her pale eyes dimmed with worry, 'What happened to you?'

Imogen looked at her, eyes haunted. 'You don't want to know.' She replied laconically. The woman seemed to accept the answer because she bustled out of the room, hollering a name Imogen didn't catch. She just stood in the middle of the small room, towel clutched tightly around her slim hardened body.