Legacy - Lois McMaster Bujold [116]
Othan unwrapped the leg, and Hoharie pronounced his neat stitches that closed the vertical slit to be good tight work, and the redness only to be expected and not a sign of infection yet, and they would do some groundwork later to prevent adhesions. Othan seemed even more relieved at the chance to rewrap the wound with more usual sorts of patroller bandages.
While this was going on, Mari reported: “Before you ask three times, Dag—everyone made it out of the groundlock alive.”
Dag’s eyes squeezed shut in thankfulness. “I was pretty sure. Is Artin going to hold on? His heart took hurt, there, I thought.”
“Yes, but his son has him well in hand. All the Raintree folks could be carried off by their kin as early as tomorrow, at least as far as the next camp. They’ll recover better there than out here in the woods.”
Dag nodded.
“Once they’re away our folks will be getting anxious to see home again, too. Bryn and Ornig are up already, and I don’t think Mallora will be much behind. Young, y’know. I don’t know about you, but I’m right tired of this place. With that hole in your leg it’s plain you’re not walking anywhere. It’s up to Hoharie to say how soon you can ride.”
“Ask me tomorrow,” said Hoharie. “The leg’s not really the worst of it.” “So what about the arm, Hoharie?” Dag asked hesitantly. His voice still sounded like something down in a swamp, croaking. “It’s a bit worryin’, not moving like that. Kind of takes me back to some memories I don’t much care to revisit.”
Hoharie grimaced understanding. “I can see why.” As Othan tied off the new dressing and sat back, she added quietly, “Time to give me a look. You have to open yourself, Dag.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. He didn’t sound at all enthusiastic, Fawn thought. But he lay back against his saddle prop with a faraway look on his face; his lips moved in something deeper than a wince. Mari hissed, Hoharie’s lips pursed, and Othan, who had sewn up bleeding flesh without a visible qualm, looked suddenly ill.
“Well, that’s a bigger mess than Utau, and I thought he was impressive,” allowed Hoharie. “Let me see what I can do with this.”
“You can’t do a ground reinforcement after all you just went through!” Dag objected.
“I have enough oomph left for one,” she replied, her face going intent. “I was saving it for you. Figured…”
Fawn tugged at Mari and whispered urgently, “What’s going on? What do you all sense?” That I can’t.
“The ground down his left side’s all marked up with blight, like big deep bruises,” Mari whispered back. “But those nasty black malice spatters that I felt before seem to be gone now—that’s a real good sign, I reckon. The ground of his left arm, though, is hanging in tatters. Hoharie’s wrapping it all up with a shaped ground reinforcement—ooh, clever—I think she means to help it grow back together easier as it heals.”
Hoharie let out her breath in a long sigh; her back bent. Dag, his expression very inward, stared down at his left arm as it moved in a short jerk. “Better!” he murmured in pleased surprise.
“Time,” said Hoharie, and now she sounded down in that swamp, too. Dag gave her a dry look as if to say, Now who’s overdoing? She ignored it, and continued, “It’ll all come back in time as your ground slowly heals. Slowly, got that, Dag?”
Dag sighed in regret. “Yeah…” His voice fell further. “The ghost hand. It’s gone, isn’t it? For good. Like the other.”
Hoharie said somewhat impatiently, “Gone for a good, to be sure, but not necessarily forever. I know it perturbed you, Dag, but I wish you’d stop thinking of that hand as some morbid magic! It was a ground projection, a simple…well, it was a ground projection, anyway. As your ground heals up from all this blight, it should come back with the rest of it. Last, I imagine, so don’t go fuming and fretting.”
“Oh,” said Dag, looking brighter. Fawn could have hit him for winking at her like that just then, because it almost made her laugh out loud, and she’d never dare explain