“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for almost a week now, Almonihah. Don’t overdo it,” the elf said, concern evident in his tone and voice.
“A week?” Almonihah rasped. He could vaguely remember a few brief moments of consciousness, but a week?
Imlloen nodded. “You’re lucky you crashed close enough to a Ranger that he heard you. I don’t think you would have made it if Aled hadn’t gotten to you immediately, though you owe at least as much to Brynmor.”
Almonihah started to nod, then decided against it as tilting his head made the world start to spin. He laid back down. Brynmor was a Druid, and the official healer for the Rangers at the Northern Ranger Headquarters. From what he remembered, he probably had needed the Druid’s help badly when they found him.
“Speaking of Brynmor,” the Ranger Commander said, standing and walking toward the door, “He’ll want to know you’re up.”
Almonihah took stock of himself while Imlloen was out of the room. He seemed to be all in one piece, and though he was vaguely sore… everywhere, really, it seemed he could move everything. Including the wings that were still on his back. Which made him notice that laying on his back, even with the pains whoever had laid him here had obviously taken, was not particularly comfortable any more. He tried sitting up, slowly this time, and with considerable support from the wall the bed he was on was pushed up against.
By the time he’d gotten himself situated somewhat comfortably, Imlloen came back in with Brynmor. The Druid rushed over to his patient.
“What are you sitting up for? You…”
“’t’s too uncomfortable t’ lay on these,” Almonihah interrupted, moving his wings slightly to indicate what he was referring to.
Brynmor shook his head. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea yet, but,” he sighed, “I suppose it’s too late now. Now then, let’s check things over.”
Almonihah endured in silence as the Druid poked and prodded some particular points on his limbs, and especially on his wings. “You had a number of broken bones when we found you,” he explained to his patient as he did so. “It seems like Naishia’s blessings have done their work, though. It was…” he fell silent for a moment, then said, his tone a bit more subdued, “Something… resisted me at first. For a time, it seemed I might not be able to do anything for you.”
The half-dragon grunted in acknowledgement. “Stayed out there too long,” he muttered.
Imlloen sighed. “I’d thought we’d lost you earlier, but I can’t say I was happy to see you when you were carried in. Not like you were.” He was silent for a long moment, then said, “But it’s good to have you back now.”
“You’re probably hungry,” Brynmor interjected. “I have just the thing… be back in a moment…” he went back out the door.
Imlloen watched him leave, then turned back to Almonihah. “Feel up to telling me what happened?” He asked, quietly.
The half-dragon grunted. “Yeah, th’ short version.”
Imlloen sat back down, attentive. Almonihah considered for a moment, then started, “Th’ Madlands ‘re a lot bigger than they were in Falloen’s time. Took me three times ‘s long t’ get to th’ Desolation of the Dragonfall ‘s he did.”
The elf narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. After a moment’s pause, Almonihah continued, “Ran out ‘f supplies. Had t’ eat or die.” He shrugged very slightly. “Just about died anyway.”
The room was silent for a minute or two before he added, softly, “His voice is in the wind down there. Jivenesh’s. Didn’t know what it was at first, but after I ate even that one meal…”
It was quiet again in the room. After another few moments, Brynmor came back in with a bowl of steaming broth.
“Here, this should do the trick,” he said, seating himself near the half-dragon. He filled a spoon and started lifting it to Almonihah’s mouth.
“Can do that,” he muttered.
“No, you can’t,” Brynmor replied, “And I rather not have you spill any of this broth trying.”
No, Almonihah’s not the type to convalesce quietly. But I think I’ll spare you most of his orneriness and skip to some more interesting things next post.