The horse tried her upmost to pull away, and the large thorn embedded within its hind leg was soon removed , the creatures mind at peace with the womans calming words. Flannery rested her forearms upon the fence as the mare was encouraged to move on to join its stable companions. She watched a while, foals, mares and stallions running with a free spirit and no burden upon their back, but her own calm was short lived as the young girl tugged at her arm in a frantic state. The child blabbered so quickly that her words became seemingly one but all too soon she made sense, prompting the woman to take whatever she might have at hand as a weapon, the little girl hurrying her toward the mill.
Holding an arm to encourage the child behind her, she entered the dusty building, pitchfork in hand. True to the childs word, a man lay, bloody, broken, beneath the spiral stairs of the mill. How he came to be there was not her concern at that time, it was clear he was of their people. His golden hair, the armour upon his body, clearly made him a man of the Ridenna-mearc. Calling for one of the farmhands, she ordered his aid, sending him to and fro for all she needed to right such a cruel fate. The scent of blood carried in the air, not simply his own, but that of his quarry. Black, sickly stains mingled with the crimson upon his armour, a ruby pool beneath him that seeped from the wound in his side. His ankle was broken and twisted, a sight to turn the stomach of any who had felt such an injury. Many, many seasons had passed since she had to tend to one such as he, someone broken to near death, yet she remembered well all that she had learnt since a child and with a skill to rival most healers, kept death at bay that day.
Her home was warm, a comfort far greater than the floor of a mill, and once able, the farmhand and she aided the man within its walls. A hot tonic of bitter herbs was given, his skin, so many shallow cuts and scratches, bathed. The pain dulled slightly, the skin warmed and soon they spoke. His gratitude clear in the sweet words and the sad tale he would tell. None who rode with him were thought to have survived. The creatures that felled his people were as brutal as any that had crossed the meadows. She knew it would be many, many days before he could walk without aide and so was extended the courtesy of her home for as long as he wished.
She thought perhaps his words of longing that day, of her eyes, of her beauty, the disdain for the one who would leave her and her child alone, were merely a means to thank her. She had heard honeyed words before. Her faithfulness had gone unrewarded, no man had she courted since her sons father departed, no bed would she share, though it was not without those who would try. Perhaps she had waited long enough, for his words stirred something in her mind and her heart, a need to feel desired again.
