I heard people moving quickly around me, the clatter of bottles and bowls, and the occasional hushed whisper. My head tossed weakly from side to side and I groaned, the sounds amplified by my increasing migraine. I squeezed my eyes tighter shut, and suddenly pain shot through my arm. Through my gritted teeth I released a loud squeal and shot up into a sitting position, my arm pulled to my chest.
My eyes were open wide now, and many people, or so it seemed, huddled around me. I recongnized them as Uncle, Anaot, the village healer, Jumane, and her apprentice, Rentla. I glanced from one person to another, eyes wild, my chest heaving.
Jumane, who had her back turned to me, heard my heavy breathing and turned around from her shelves and cabinets of bottles and bowls. She smiled warmly at me, her wavy black hair flying around her neck as she walked over to the small, patchy couch that I laid on.
"So the suicidal boy is awake!" She chirped, throwing her hands into the air. The bracelets around her wrists, which were made from stone beads, clacked as they slapped against each other. Once again, the sound was made louder by my headache.
"Suicidal?" I asked weakly, flinging my legs over the side of the couch. I clutched my bandaged arm and pressed it to my chest, hoping that the pressure would make the pain subside for a bit.
"Aye, suicidal." Rentla replied in her high-pitched soprano voice. Her muddy brown curls danced on her shoulders as she brought me a bowl filled with a foul smelling paste. "Drink this. It'll help with the pain." She shook the bowl in front of me until I warily took it and gulped the choppy green paste down.
"You cut yourself with the skinning knife, Voltrix." Uncle grumbled. He sounded tired, so I looked out the window and was surprised to find that the lights of day had disappeared. How long had I been out?
"You lost a lot of blood, boy." Jumane said, her voice disapproving. She shook her head and took the small pottery bowl from me and handed it off to Rentla, who tripped cheerfully away. "Not good, for a boy as young as you to lose that much blood." She gestured to the bloody guaze that lay in a shallow bowl on a table beside the couch.
The sight of blood made my nose wrinkle, and I looked away. The smell of dirtied guaze also discusted me, and I glanced at Uncle, awaiting rescue.
"We'd best be going, Jumane." Uncle finally said. I allowed myself a breath of relief.
"Aye. I have others to tend to." The healer replied. I looked around but saw no one else. I stood, supported by Anaot, who hadn't said a thing, and barely made it out the door before a knife cut through skin, and a chorus of frogs began.
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