Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

He struggled vainly beneath the ponderous weight of the corpse. Every exertion triggered stabs of agony, but he had to get the troll off or he would surely suffocate. Panic and survival instincts gathered what was left of his waning strength into a last ditch heave. The burden lifted, then thankfully was gone. His lower legs remained trapped but at least his chest was clear and he lay spent, panting in pain and gulping in air.

Gradually, his breathing calmed and the pain blurred. How long he'd lain unconscious he couldn't tell but where it had been midmorning when he'd been waylaid it was now deep night, and cold, teethchatteringly so. It was dangerous to remain lying there. Once the scout's absence was noted a search party would be sent. The most prudent recourse would be to find shelter where he could hide and assess the severity of his wounds. Since the troll’s body lay to his right he cautiously rolled onto his left side. His breath caught sharply when his shoulder protested. He threw out his right arm for leverage but instead of solid ground his hand met air. Frantically fighting for balance, he toppled forward into space.

There was a muffled cry and a heavy thump from the floor above as Elena was carefully ascending the stairs, a bowl of soup in her hand. Liquid sloshed over the rim of the earthenware bowl, missing her skin but dampening her skirt. Setting the bowl upon a step she hastened up, halting in dismay upon the bedroom’s threshold. The stranger lay sprawled on the floor, legs entangled in bed sheets. Kneeling she checked his pulse, then, sidestepping the body, threw open the shutter and yelled for Mutch. Straight away the hunter appeared beneath the window, his uplifted face anxious. Learning the problem, he disappeared from view and soon entered the room. Carefully he lifted the man back upon the bed. Elena grimly examined the wounds but found, amazingly enough, that the stitches had held. Except for a rapidly forming bruise above his right temple he appeared to have suffered no real harm.

Elena contemplated the scene. The blankets she had piled atop him had been tossed haphazardly aside. Obviously he had tried to leave the bed - whether conscious or still in the grip of fever couldn’t be determined but his forehead, though slightly cooler than earlier, was still warm so she suspected the latter. Luckily he’d not made it to the stairs or she would now be directing Mutch to prepare a grave. Her cheeks flushed with shame when the thought brought with it a momentary twinge of disappointment.

Giving herself a mental shake she sent Mutch in search of Filch and set about tidying the bed. She tucked the blankets tightly under the mattress on both sides so the patient would be less likely to toss them off again. Filch scurried in and she instructed him to sit watch and rouse her should the man try to get up again. Making sure the shutter was securely closed she went downstairs, retrieving the now gelatinous broth on her way. A short while later, after seeing that the fire in the kitchen hearth was safely extinguished she reentered the cottage and withdrew to her room on the top floor.