“You could see evidence of this plight splayed across mybody.”
“Of course.”
“And you knew enough pharmacy to see that these wounds werecausing me great sufferin’.”
“Definitely.”
“And you did nothing for this.”
“No,” he said.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I thought you deserved it.”
She blinked up at him with a mixture of surprise and anger.
He opened his palms.“I’m sorry, but it didn’t seem smart toaid my enemies.”
“Didn’t seem smart to admit that, neither.”
“Look, do you want to die of infection or not?”
She waved a hand, lying back fully on the floor.“Aye, aye.Better late than never.”
He pulled out the alchemical supplies from his pack,carefully laying out a mortar, pestle, and various phials of herbs.The Soldier’sRest would be difficult to craft with his travel kit, as the recipe called fora very precise measurement of ingredients.In fact, with his dwindlingsupplies, crafting enough of the poultice to heal Zaria would likely exhaustmany of his vital reagents.
He would need potions in the battle ahead.
Did he want to take the chance?
He glanced back at her.She was lying on the floor with hereyes closed, taking shallow breaths.It seemed like she could do little else.
Isaac crafted the poultice gingerly, storing the excessreagents and tossing used vials over the watchtower edge.By the time all thecomponents were applied, the solution had thickened to a dark green emulsion,still boiling upon itself.As he waited for the liquid to evaporate, he gazedout over the necropolis, thinking of crafting elixirs in his uncle’slaboratory.Without warning, he found himself aching for the sound of clinkingbeakers, the pour of distilled liquid, the heat of the flames.He had alwaysthought he hated working in the lab.Always, it had been a chore, a series ofrepetitive tasks to brew non-essential potions, which his uncle sold forprofit.
He missed it terribly, all of a sudden.He missed thecertainty of each reaction.
He felt very far from home.
The poultice was ready.A coagulation of Soldier’s Rest satin the bottom of his mortar, still steaming hot.After repacking his phials, hecrawled over to Zaria and tried to determine the worst of her injuries.
It was difficult.There was a lot of fur, and a lot ofblood.
“Which one hurts the most?”he asked.
In response, she rolled onto her front.Across the canvas ofher back, a long, diagonal slash went from her shoulder blade to the oppositehip, cleaving straight through the vest and the backing of her leatherplackart.Chips of bone poked from the skin.
“Gods,” Isaac said, startled.
“It’s a bit of an ache,” Zaria mumbled.
“Yes, clearly.”
After picking out the splintered bone, he took a pinch ofpoultice and applied it to the laceration, packing the wad as tightly aspossible.The reaction was immediate.Flesh steamed and spasmed.Zaria gaspedin surprise.
“Fuckin’ cunt!”
“Let it work,” Isaac said.
