Saturday, January 22, 2011
Ob hooks a stool with his foot and settles on it. His movements are stilted, his expression grim. Saying nothing, Ob crosses his arms. He grimaces, then closes his eyes and swallows. There are pain lines around his tight pressed lips.
Breathing through his nose, Ob raises a brow at Rowan.
"It is nothing. I heal when I sleep. Stone heals all."
His sentences are short. The rolling purr of his accent is so thick the clipped words are almost non-existent. He moves to toss his hair and stifles a moan, cutting the motion short. Rowan reaches toward his hair and he glowers.
"Don't be a fool, Obsidian. Tell me what is wrong. There are several hours until the sun comes up. Do you want to be in pain THAT long?"
He closes his eyes and whispers, "No."
Rowan moves his hair aside, slowly pushing his collar away from his neck. His dark skin disguises a lot of the bruising, but there are shadows along his throat and over his shoulder.
"Ob, this is bad." Her fingers trace over the bruises and he grits his teeth. "There is more here than the bruising." He sits still, fighting the urge to jerk away. "Hmmmm. The pattern of the bruising, some swelling. Lucky he didn't crush your windpipe." Her inspection moved on to his shoulder. "Move your arm."
Ob grimaces with pain as he eases his arm away from his body. His eyes close and he forces it out and up. Rowan stops him. "Ob, the collarbone seems like it is broken. Flex your fingers." Ob groans as he clenches his hand. "Sword arm, right?" Ob nods, barely. She takes his hand and gently moves his fingers. "You let him hurt you, didn't you?" Ob nods slowly.
Rowan shakes her head. "I am going to put you in a figure eight splint for your collarbone. Your hand... a splint so the bones are aligned when you change."
He opens his eyes and whispers. "Rowan... take my shoes off. Please?"
Startled, Rowan tugs his low boots from his feet. Ob stands, pressing his feet to the cool tile. His shallow breathing slowly becomes deeper, the lines of pain easing. A few moments later he settles back on the stool, looking less haggard.
"Sorry. Had to tap into the Tavern's store of magic for help. Pain management." He gives her a small grimace. "I am yours to mend, Maestra Rowan."