I never thought I'd see this hollow again. I'm surprised at how well it looked when I first climbed inside the tree. Like greeting an old friend that you aren't really overjoyed to see, but you aren't altogether unhappy about it, either. No animals have been using it, that I can tell. A few spiders that needed to be chased out.
Dragging the man's body in here was no easy feat.
...I just realized how those words might sound. Let me back up.
This morning I was hunting along the stream that runs south from the lake. Hunting's always good there, since the wood is thick, there's plenty of water, and the deer enjoy the open fields that go east towards the hills. But to cut a long story short, I spotted what I thought at first was a dead body laying among the ferns. When I ventured close and nudged the fellow with my foot, he gave a moan, so I knew he wasn't dead. I asked him what had happened, but all he did was moan and groan, so I rolled him onto his back and started looking him over. He's a huge man, tall and thick, with dark hair and decent clothing, so he's not a pauper for sure.
I couldn't see any immediate wounds. I felt his brow and it was hot and damp with sweat. Should I have left him there and run to find help? It's hard to say. So deep in the wild, it would have taken me most of a day to reach Bree, and another day to lead someone back up into the woods where he was. I decided to stay with him and do whatever I could, though I'm no healer, and my knowledge is limited to insect or animal bites and the various bruises and scrapes one expects while roaming the forest. Had he eaten something poisonous, maybe? I know what mushrooms and berries to avoid, and to me, it seems that anyone with any common sense should know it, too. But not everyone has common sense, for sure.
It was then that he made a weak move towards his left leg. I tugged off his boot, which only made him groan all the louder. His foot looked all right, and I moved all his toes and such around, nothing was broken. Besides, a broken toe shouldn't lay a man flat on his face! I asked if he minded if I cut his trousers to get a look at his leg, but he didn't answer. Just kept on moaning.
Once I'd used my knife to slice up the leg of his trousers, it was all too obvious. His calf was swollen like a pig's bladder, and there were dark red streaks starting under the skin. "Snake bite", I muttered aloud, and he nodded.
I asked him how long it had been since he'd been bitten, but he couldn't answer. I checked higher up, past his knee, and nothing seemed swollen there, so the bite was pretty fresh. Not fresh enough to try sucking out the venom, and I wouldn’t have been squeamish about trying if I thought it’d do some good. But he was likely going to get worse before he got better, if he survived at all. And I couldn’t leave him laying there by the stream.
I’ve been lucky enough to never have been bitten by a snake. I’ve had my share of close calls, though. Almost stepping on them in the morning sun while they’re lounging on rocks and logs, and they aren’t paying attention and you aren’t paying attention and suddenly the ground is coiling and slithering just under your boot. It’s enough to make a woman piss herself! Though, I haven’t done that, either.
But my Pa wasn’t so lucky. One day when I was about ten years old, I think...it was autumn, so the sun was warming things up slowly when he went out to cut some firewood. Ma said she heard him holler from clear across the house, and when she ran outside, a fat old adder was darting off into the grass while Pa was on his knees, holding his arm. I don’t remember too much about what happened after, but I do remember Ma taking me aside to help her make what she called “rustic theriac”. She said the rich folk that live in big cities keep huge pots of the stuff, but it takes years to make it properly and no one in Bree can get all the expensive ingredients, so we make do with what we can.
Thank the gods that my old, abandoned camp wasn’t too far from where this man had fallen. I grabbed him by his arms and started hauling him over the ground. Of course, he moaned and fussed the whole way, but I didn’t scold him for it. He was out of his head with fever and didn’t know any better. I tried to look around him for any signs of who he was or why he was out there alone. I saw an axe near his hand, and a bundle of cut branches near the water’s edge, so I’m guessing he’s a woodcutter unless I find out otherwise.
I could tell it was going to storm before we got to the tree. Honestly, a bit of mud might’ve made him easier to drag, but I didn’t want him to get soaking wet, poor soul. By the time I finally hauled him through the opening, the rain was starting, and the air was close and heavy. It’s still raining now, been raining all the while I wrote this.
I put my bedroll under his head. He’s white as a sheet now, still sweating. His knee’s swelling up, and so is his foot. I’ve got a few things in my pack; honey and herbs and such, that I always keep on me. But I’ll need more to make a proper poultice. I’m trying to remember all the things Ma mentioned for making the rustic theriac. But it was so long ago! I don’t want to go out and get soaked, but it’s a small price to pay for trying to save his leg, if not his life.
I hope he doesn’t die. No man should die alone with a stranger in the middle of the woods, without his name even being known.
