After a few seconds, he unlocked his clenched teeth and let his mouth fall open.
Hurriedly, I pressed some of the flowers against his tongue and rubbed them on the insides of his cheeks. He couldn’t be expected to swallow in this state, so I didn’t put enough in his mouth to choke him.
It seemed to be working. He began breathing more easily, his skin tone normalizing, though he felt burning hot, even hotter than normal.
Within minutes, his breathing was almost back to normal, and his rigid muscles relaxed.
“Will he be okay now?” Tindra asked in a weepy voice.
Tears streamed down her face as she patted the top of Pharis’ head.
“I think so,” I told her, though I had no idea what lasting effect exposure to that much fireweed would have on him.
All we could do was wait and pray that what we’d done would be enough.
It was a good thing Pharis had hunted the day we made camp because days later, he was still unconscious. Mostly.
He did stir from time to time, mumbling incoherently.
Several times a day, I propped the upper half of his body the best I could manage, to give him fresh water from the stream and some saol water from his flask.
It wasn’t easy. He was incredibly heavy, and without his cooperation, lifting him felt like trying to hoist a boulder.
Though he drank a little and moved from time to time, he was still feverish.
I began brewing tea with the yarrow leaves and flowers, hoping the continuous administration of the antidote would help, and used cool compresses in an attempt to bring down the fever.
Between my father and Pharis, caretaking had become my full-time occupation.
The girls were extremely helpful, finding some edible plants for us to chew on and refilling Pharis’ empty flasks in the stream.
On the third day following his accidental poisoning, I was wiping his face and chest with cool cloths soaked in the water, when he spoke words that were actually intelligible.
“The horses,” he said.
My heart leapt to hear him say something that made sense.
“Cimmerian and Ruby are fine,” I reassured him. “They love this meadow, in fact, and are probably going to get fat with all the standing around and grazing they’re doing. How are you feeling?”
He didn’t answer me, just shook his head and smiled before going back to sleep.
I took that as a good sign.
While the girls and I bathed in the stream each day, and even Papa managed to make his way there and back once, Pharis had not been able to move since taking ill.
So I decided to bring the bath to him, thinking it might make him feel better.
I peeled his shirt all the way off, talking him through rolling side to side for me and allowing me to pull off the sleeves.
While he was still up on one side, I used the fresh cloths to gently wash his back. Pharis groaned, but it didn’t sound like a pain noise, so I continued, lifting his hair to wash his neck.
After using the blanket to dry him, I rolled him to his back again and began washing the front of him. I cleaned his arms, lifting each heavy limb and bathing it, then moved on to his chest and stomach.
Reaching the waistband of his breeches, I decided to stop there.
He was getting better—I hoped. Soon he’d be able to bathe himself in the stream.
My cheeks heated as I tried to will away the immediate visual image and moved with my cloths and flasks to safer territory, his lower legs and feet.
