It has been shortly over a week since the stranger fell from the cliff.
Everyday I have nursed him to health, brought him his food and drink to get him back to where he was before.
It was my duty, my passion and my call to do so.
Helping others was my way of mending the wrongs of life.
I couldn’t help my nature, it was like magnetism. The wounded of body, heart and soul called to me like a curse I couldn’t run from.
On some days I see the blessing in it, on others it chaines me down to my very core of fears and negativity.
There was no other way to live than to give everything I had every single day.
Not even I could stop myself, therefore I stayed doing what was my calling.
The squawking of the roosters pulled her senses to wake.
Her eyes drew open to see the ceiling of her tent.
A sigh escaped her lips, another day dawning.
A flash of a crooked smile danced through her head.
Slightly urgent she made herself ready.
Arching her back and stepping towards a neatly organized box she retrieved a comb and a flask with oil.
She took a glance towards her door, opening the drape slightly to check if fresh water was already there.
Alas there it was, a bucket filled almost to the brim with water.
it was the job of the younger ones to refill it in the morning for every single tent. A tedious practice, but it was an efficient system to get water to every member of the village.
Her hands reached for the treasure, heaving the water inside.
Washing her face, arms and feet and drying them afterwards she decided to wash herself properly later. Her hair was tied into two braids to sleep and she opened them to thread her comb through.
Dipping her fingers in the flask she retrieved some of the floral smelling oil and threaded her finger from her scalp to her last strand of hair. After coating it all she gathered it to the side and started to braid it into her signature style.
Halfway through she grabbed into the chest again and pulled out a vibrant red ribbon. With every strand that she braided, a piece of the ribbon went with it until it was fully incorporated into her hair.
Right now she wore her sleep attire, a beige gown that draped over her until it reached over her knees.
She grabbed the pile of clothing next to her bed and dressed herself. The colour of the loose pants was beige as well, gathering together at the ankles. She draped an undershirt over herself that reached her shoulders and knees. The last piece was a long sleeved knitted fabric that resembled the colour of her ribbon.
In the day she would switch to something cooler, but the weather short after dawn was colder than one might expect.
It was now time to make her first rounds through the village.
Grabbing a bag while moving she draped the fabric of the door out of the way and stepped into the crisp morning air.
Young teens were still moving around bringing water buckets everywhere and they hushed a greeting when they saw the healer walk past them. Their voices were still not improper to use, but they respected the customs and lowered them subconsciously.
On her way to the first tent that needed her attention, she saw another girl walk towards her.
Her brows furrowed as she signed “all done!” to her.
Confused, Lemsa tilted her head to the side.
“Go to the boy, I did your first rounds”, her hands danced into the air.
Clasping her hand over her mouth in shock the now no longer confused woman repressed a loud noise. She playfully slapped her friend on the side.
“Hush, and go!”, she motioned and Lemsa’s stomach flipped again.
Damn you, you traitor.
Clutching her hands over the strap of her bag she took a deep breath and entered the dreaded place.
The tent was dark of course and she had to light the torchlight to make the space drown in an orange lighting.
She opened her bag and got out all the tools she needed. Turning around quickly to get the bucket of water and a wooden bowl.
He was still sleeping.
His eyes relaxed and closed, his torso slowly moving up and down in a soothing rhythm.
The cackle of the fire torch in the background to accompany her, she checked for his face.
It was perfectly normal to check on her patients while they slept, there was no reason to wake them so early.
His face was tucked into his arm which made it pretty difficult to check it properly, but his neck was exposed to her.
Her palm touched her forehead and then his neck to check his temperature and it was definitely warmer than usual.
Begrudgingly, she moved her hands over his arm and tried to nudge it to the side.
His arm moved to the side with a thud and revealed his face.
Sweatbead formed on his head, a slight scrunch in it as she lowered her own head to his to check the temperature.
There was no denying it now.
A fever wasn’t necessarily a bad sign.
If his wounds started to clot and close and his body was ready to rebuild the wounded area, it would most likely start to swell. A fever was important to fight the bacteria causing his infection and to boost his immune system.
She rotated his head to the side to check the wound.
As expected, the blood was replaced by shining scabs while the surrounding part was red and inflamed. So long as the fever wouldn’t rage too long he would be okay.
She applied an ointment on the surroundings of the wound after cleaning it again with a clear fluid.
A groan escaped the man’s lips as she fumbled to finish faster.
Don’t wake up, don’t wake up!
She pleaded as her hands worked frantically over his bandage.
Relieved, she stood up from her crouch and turned around, but before she could move a warm hand grasped her.
Concerned, she turned around. His voice cracked and sounded raspy in the morning. A slight shiver moving through it.
“What happened?”, his eyes were half lidded almost too exhausted to open them fully. Something was glazed over his irises, his pupils full and dilated.
She shook her head in reassurance, her hand instinctively on his forehead again.
The fever shot up.
Swallowing hard and clearing his throat before speaking again, his voice hushed:
“I feel like I’m burning up”.
She nodded. I know, I know, she thought to herself, a look of pain evident in her features.
“Don’t look at me like that”, he forced a smile, “I’ll be fine”
She doused a cloth in the cold water, wrung it out and placed it over the sick man’s head.
His throat made a sound as if he was in pain and delight at the same time, a bit more high pitched than his normal register that turned into a relaxed hum.
His eyes shut closed again but his hand motioned towards hers.
As he got a hold of it, his fingers drew across her palm.