The Realms of Thrice (Lesbian Fiction)

Chapter XI - Understandings

Chapter XI - Understandings

At fewer than three leagues, Emri collapsed, sending her to the soft cushioning of the forest duff. Nora spotted a den tree a few yards from them and dragged Emri the remaining distance before situating her inside the small cleaned out hollow.

Nora looked at her with absolute anguish; her trembling hands hovered in the air. She wanted to touch, to give any type of comfort she could provide, but everywhere her gaze landed, bloody, tattered, or bruised skin appeared. She clenched her outstretched hand and finally cradled her neck.

Emri looked at her and smiled reassuringly as she placed her good hand over Nora’s. “Hey, it’s gonna be all right, y’know. Just a setback is all.”

“I would hardly deem this a setback, Emri. We have no horses, no supplies … you can barely stand, let alone walk.”

She stayed quiet for a long while as she absentmindedly toyed with the tattered fabric of Emri’s cloak, thinking. Night had yet to fall, so her gaze wandered about the surrounding woods. At least the woodland’s previous eeriness had dissipated. No more were the lifeless trees overtaken with rot or disease and the wildlife mostly hidden. Here, on the southern edge of the dark forest, life thrived, and it was beautiful.  

“You healed me,” Nora began as she studied her own scarred hands, reliving the memory of the day Emri saved her. “Can you not heal yourself?”

“I didn’t heal you. I can’t mend wounds. I can only soothe … ease nerves. My energy doesn’t allow for the physical repair, only emotional—mental. I haven’t even felt an energy source out here. These bands may be as useless as a canteen with no water.”

“These need to be cleaned. I will go gather supplies for the night. We should be fairly safe here.”

“I’m just glad the weathers warmed up. I didn’t know how much more I could take of the cold and damp.”

“Well, I will get a fire started and then we can go through our supplies. But let us get you tended to first.”

Eyes followed the ever growing shadows as the sun steadily retreated behind the horizon. She had already counted the number of bristle tail squirrels, the different songs of the winter birds, and even sang an old poem her mother used to recite to her when she was ill. She found it comforting, and it passed the time as she waited for Nora’s return. It at least kept her mind off the constant throbbing of her limbs. What she wouldn’t do for a flagon of wine, or better yet, a warm kettle of her own mulled wine. It warmed her spirit, calmed her mind and, best of all, dulled the pain. It really was the “Gods’ Drink”.

But the more she yearned for the red drink, the more painfully aware she became of the fact they had nothing to quench their thirst. The taste of blood still lingered over her tongue and she desperately wished to be rid of it.

She heard the snap of twigs and the crush of leaves. Her instincts screamed fear as her heartbeat doubled in speed. It was fight or flight, and as of the moment, she could do neither. But before her mind got too carried away, she saw the edge of a dark moss green cloak. Nora rounded the tree with her leather pouch at her hip and arms full of small broken logs and branches. She bent over not far in front of Emri and deposited her stash of wood before kneeling at her injured leg. She pulled various leaves, herbs, and salvaged vials of salves and oils from her purse.

She helped Emri out of her breeches, and lifted the fabric of her braies to expose the worst of the gashes. Two desperately needed sutures to keep infection at bay. The rest could be managed through basic hygiene and cleansing of the wounds. But in this ruthless environment, those were laughable needs.