“You never cease to amaze me, Kragh. I distinctly remember sending you out for Woundwort. And yet, you return with a patient. Who is it?”
Despite his friendly banter, Merrick was already beginning to examine the newcomer.
“I don’t know. Didn’t get to ask their name,” Kraghtol replied and went to prepare a bowl of water. Since Merrick was the healer, his task in such a situation was to assist. If the patients allowed even that.
Before Merrick could address the new patient, however, the wrinkly eyes snapped open, and the somewhat croaky voice preempted him.
“No, no, no. I don’t want you, old man. I want to be treated by the green one, the strong one, yes? Where is he?”
Merrick hesitated for a second, and a shadow of doubt crossed over his face, but then he smiled and shot Kraghtol an unusual look that took the latter a moment to understand. It was pride.
“Yes, of course. Kragh is more than capable of caring for your leg. You are in excellent hands.”
And with that, Kraghtol’s foster father stepped back and made way for the half-orc, who felt incredibly confused. A patient? A patientwho not only didn’t object to being treated by him but actuallyrequestedit? Suddenly, his dreams of being a healer like his father didn’t seem so far away anymore. Then, he felt incredibly nervous, and sweat poured out of his pores. What if he made a mistake? Or if he hurt or killed his first patient? What if he didn’t know what to do?
His onset of panic must have been rather apparent, because Merrick placed a soothing hand on his shoulder — not an easy feat considering their height difference — and nodded encouragingly towards his foster son, as if to say, “You got this.”
Merrick was right, Kraghtol decided and fought down his fear. This wasn’t difficult, perhaps a sprained ankle or a broken bone. He had watched his old man treat such injuries countless times, and he had read all three medical books they possessed so many times he could effortlessly recall the name of every leg bone if necessary. So, he took a deep breath and stepped forward, for the first time actually examining the patient in front of him.
It was a man, he decided, based on the rough form of the body and the apparent lack of breasts, and an ancient one, too. A million wrinkles defined the face, and the whole body reminded him more of a gnarly tree than an actual human being. He wore simple clothes, cut in an unusual, disorganized pattern, which meant he had probably sewn them himself, and had done himself no favor by doing so. They were dirty, but not damaged, meaning they were either rather new or the old man didn’t leave home much. Wait. What was he doing? He should concentrate on the injury, not on the clothes! And he had to start by finding out what the problem was.
“I’m going to check your leg and ankle now. I’ll try to be as careful as possible, but if I hurt you, please tell me right away.”
His patient didn’t look afraid at all, only curious and somewhat amused. Perhaps he was still in shock, or perhaps age had taken a toll on his mind. In any case, Kraghtol didn’t mind, as it made his job easier.
Carefully, he exposed the patient’s left leg and checked the uneven and thin skin. As expected, there was significant swelling in the ankle area, hinting at either a sprain or a broken bone. Apart from the generally uneven leg, which appeared to have experienced multiple fractures and subsequent healing, he couldn’t identify any noticeable recent deformity. The man in front of him had an unhealthy yellow tint to his skin, possibly showing malnutrition. The tint appeared darker in the ankle area, but not as much as he would have expected if a bone was broken.
With a gentle touch of his big green fingers, Kraghtol palpated the area, feeling only swelling and no sharp edges.
“Oh, ha-ha, that’s very painful, isn’t that right?” the old man cackled, and Kraghtol immediately let go of the area. Granted,3 the patient was probably not right in his head, but if the bone had been broken, he would have expected a stronger reaction.
“I don’t think your ankle is broken. It is just a sprain, luckily,” Kraghtol shared his diagnosis. He actively tried not to turn his head towards Merrick, but saw the approving nod regardless, from the corner of his eye.
“You should rest your foot, at least for a few days, and prop it up on a stool as often as possible. I’m going to prepare a poultice of herbs that should help with the pain and healing.
“Oh, a poultice. How exciting! What plants are you going to use?”
The sudden interest of his patient surprised Kraghtol, but he answered nevertheless.
“I think Comfrey and Woundwort for healing, and a good amount of Frostmint for its cooling properties. That should be enough if you keep your foot still and allow it to heal. Do you live nearby?”
His patient chuckled again, as if Kraghtol had just told him a joke.
“No, not at all. I come from far away, don’t I? And I don’t know where I will end up in the end; I really don’t.”
“Well, allow yourself some rest, at least for a few days. After that, you can continue on your way, but I would advise you to use a crutch to avoid putting too much weight on your ankle until it heals properly. And perhaps stick to the roads if you can. The roots in the forest can be treacherous.”
“Treacherous roots? Maybe, maybe… But, I have nowhere to stay, have I? Perhaps I can rest here at your place until I can walk again? That would be good, wouldn’t it?”
This time, Kraghtol turned towards Merrick, who seemed just as taken aback as he was. It was unusual for a patient to stay with them longer than necessary. But then again, most patients had a home in the village they could return to. Mistpine was too small to have an inn with guest rooms, and they would end up empty most of the time, anyhow. The only people who usually came through were soldiers, either traveling north to the border or south again, when and if theyreturned from their duty of defending Wardenreach against the savage hordes of foes that lurked outside its borders. And soldiers didn’t need guest rooms, as they just made camp outside the village.
Merrick nodded after hesitating a moment more and answered: “We don’t need the sickbed until another patient arrives, and I think that is unlikely for the next few days. So, you are welcome to stay. What is your name?”
“Ah, my name. My name, my name, I do have one, have I not? Alas… I forgot.”
The wrinkly old man cackled, and the half-orc and his silver-haired foster father shot each other a look that said more than a thousand words.
“In that case,” answered Merrick, now a bit more firmly, “I, too, think it’s best if you stay here for a short while. Perhaps that will clear things up a bit.”
