He wants to break it again. My leg! My poor leg! The thought alone makes it hurt more than it usually does.
Distracted by her own thoughts, the young woman's left hip collided with the edge of a short, wide dresser. Her hands were occupied with a folded blanket that was about to be laid on the empty bed, while her walking-stick sat propped against the wall nearby. Unable to do anything but half-crumple in pain, she refused to drop the blanket, hopping awkwardly on her left foot. After a few hisses of hurt, she began to laugh at how absurd she must have looked. As she slowly straightened up, her thoughts ran afresh.
He did say it wouldn't hurt. That I would be drugged to sleep. But that sounds nearly as frightening as letting a man break my leg on purpose. And wouldn't it hurt when I woke up? I didn't think to ask him that. I should have asked him that.
It was not so very difficult to make the bed on one good leg. She could lightly rest her right foot on the floor, and take hobbling little steps. She was used to the stab of pain that would radiate up and down the bone each time. It was like a sound repeated endlessly until a person couldn't hear it anymore. Not unless they stopped and thought about it.
I hope Emory is well. I'm glad he hasn't found me. I hope he's not looking for me. I hope Hultroth and Gustine and all the rest are well. I wonder if they miss me. I miss them. We haven't seen much of Zeylheim. He's probably busy with...things. He has such a curious effect on me. It's likely for the best that I'm not around him too much?
A man lay in the second bed, just a few feet away. Taite squinted at the bright cracks of sunlight coming in around the heavy curtain, puzzling at how a man could sleep at midday. She took great care to smooth the blanket out without making a sound, aside from the pleasantly soft whisper of fabric against itself.
Maybe I should try the cobbler idea first. I'd rather a shoe than a broken bone. But Mister Dimheim seemed strangely keen on the idea. Almost like he needed something to put his mind on, to keep it busy. I've never seen him so talkative and...personable. He's usually rather tight and formal, from what I know of him.
Her fingers gripped the footboard while she hop-shifted along to tuck the edges of the blanket beneath the mattress. The man in the next bed gave a loud snort, and she had a sudden inkling that he sounded like a summer bullfrog by the pond. The thought sent a giggle bubbling up in her chest, and she hurriedly bit her lips together to stifle it.
Best not to worry about things that aren't happening yet. That's what Pa used to say, isn't it. Mister Dimheim wants to get a look at the bone first, and maybe he'll say it wouldn't be any use to try and break it and reset it at all. I admit, I'm hoping that's what he says.
With the bed finished, she stood up straight and put a hand on her hip, surveying the room. Nothing looked out of place. Smiling, she leaned over to grab the walking-stick, and limped her way to the front door of the cottage. A beautiful summer afternoon was waiting.
