Fang would be fine in a sennight or perhaps a fortnight; this much Heriwulf was sure of. He'd removed the clumsy but effective field sutures, cleaned the wound thoroughly, put in cleaner sutures, and inspected the hound for lasting muscle damage, finding none. Hounds are smart and sturdy and they know how to take care of their own hurts better than men. And their injuries were less likely, at least while the hound was young, to fill with angry heat, the sure sign of danger. He'd recover faster with some rest, but Heriwulf knew better than to expect Hildegund to allow him much of that. But he'd recover.
Hildegund herself, though, Heriwulf was less sure of. Naturally, he hadn't inspected her injuries that closely, as he was no healer of men, only of hounds, and anyway, Hildegund, even more than most of the clan, was private, and he respected that privacy. Still, he worried. Unlike hounds, men did not know how to tend their own hurts very well, and many of them would press on despite the injury until it grew too serious to heal. Worse, the angry heat that came into wounds sometimes -- if Heriwulf were more prone to wit and humor he might call it "Faron", but if someone else made such a joke in his presence he would probably only frown -- that angry heat would turn a minor injury into a life-threatening condition overnight, one which would almost certainly end either in death or in debilitating weakness. A healer could prevent it, and a very good healer could bring someone back from it, but the clan had no healer, unless it could find one in the neighboring villages, and enough pennies to purchase their skill.
Wryly he thought of Faron's directions that he spend all his time in the adjoining towns, that is, away from her; and wearily, he set off, trailed by Niht and Brunan, for the winding path towards Combe and eventually to Bree. Weary not of body, but of spirit. He did not relish being amongst the Bree-land folk, but even before Hildegund's injury he knew they would need good neighbors. Too few they were. Now, with Hildegund very possibly in need of a healer (whether she knew it or not), someone must endure the challenge of learning the ways of the village-folk, and it was clear no one else was going to do it. Just as it had been a month earlier when he'd first ventured to Combe.
* * * * *
Lurking on the outskirts of the village, though it might have let him assess their ways before venturing in and making a blunder of custom, seemed ill-advised. The village was simply too open; no such vantage point would not be obvious and suspicious. So he strode, Brunan at his heels, up to the guards by one of the entrance paths, near the lumber camp, expecting to be told what was required to gain entrance to the village.
The man he approached simply glanced around him, looked at the dog, then seemed to ignore him.
After a moment he mustered some words. "I am a weary traveler come from far along the Great West Road, over the mountains. Is this village welcoming to such?"
"Great East Road," the guard said.
Heriwulf frowned. "What?"
"It's called the Great East Road."
Again taken aback, Heriwulf paused to consider. "Well," he finally ventured, "where I am from, it mostly heads west, so it's called the Great West Road."
For the first time the guard's impassivity broke. "Huh. I never thought of that. I suppose that makes sense. Hey Bert, you ever thought of that?"
The other guard didn't even take his eyes off whatever distant blade of grass seemed to occupy his whole spirit. "Seems to me we should call it the Great East-West Road," he said in a clipped tone.
"Or maybe the Great West-East Road," the first guard said with a laugh. "Depending on where you are on it."
How ever will I make good neighbors of these people? Heriwulf thought.
"Though it honestly don't seem that great to me," the guard was now saying. "Half the time you can hardly see the next stone. And out by the marshes, it gets--"
Impatiently, perhaps a bit too curtly, Heriwulf cut in. "Where would a traveler go in this village?"
"Oh, you'll want to go up by the Comb and Wattle, big building up on your left as you pass the center of town."
"Comb and… Waddle?" Heriwulf asked.
"Wattle. Like on a chicken. It's a joke, on account of the town being called Combe, you get it? Least that's what Honeymeade says."
So the town is called Combe, Heriwulf thought. Good thing to know. "I will call upon this Comb and Wattle, then. My thanks. Come, Brunan."
The other guard, eyes still fixed in the distance, said, "Ellie's up the path straight through, by the lake."
Already starting to walk between the two guards, Heriwulf stopped. "Ellie is?" He wasn't sure if he should know who, or what, Ellie was.
"Cutleaf. Dog-breeder. I reckon you must have business with her, that fine dog you got." The guard hadn't seemed ever to even look at Brunan.
"Ah, I will speak to this Cutleaf then, after the Comb and Wattle," Heriwulf bluffed. "Brunan is indeed a fine hound, and I am also a breeder of such beasts." The guard with the fixed stare seemed to need to speak no more, while meanwhile the other one continued to natter on about why the other road wasn't called the Great North Road, or the Great South Road, or the Great North-South Road, or the Great South-North Road; so Heriwulf stepped around him and continued into the village.
* * * * *
The same two guards were there, but by now they knew Heriwulf, though only by his moniker Hound-Friend; his true name was saved only for members of his clan, or those he trusted explicitly. Like Radagast, and right now, no one else in the wide world. He made some bland comment about the weather so inoffensive and meaningless even he wasn't sure what he'd said, and brushed past them. He'd learned that it was customary to say something vague about the weather, for some reason. It baffled him. Everyone already could tell what the weather was as well as he could. But the folks of Combe seemed to love talking about it.
This time, his strides were directed neither to the chicken-infested tavern and public house called the Comb and Wattle, nor to the house of Ellie Cutleaf, breeder of dogs, but on the path leading to the city of Bree.
