Short Story Of Pawl: Court Healer

She walked right up to him and smiled. Fleur had seemed so shy before, and a hint of timidity remained, yet she pulled a damp rag from the small pouch attached to her belt and began to wipe Percival’s chest clean of the dried

"Wait," he heard Ciel call after him. "We need to discuss the orders from the Queen."

He reached into his breast pocket again, this time retrieving a knife, which he then handed to me. I sliced a diagonal cut across the palm of my hand. Blood began to seep out, like sap from a tree. I smeared it on the bottom of the paper. Then, nothing. I felt nothing. Wendell tossed a box of band aids onto the desk. He noticed me blankly staring at my hand. He walked around the table and put his arm around me. Pulling me in nice and close, he began.

At least she’d drawn blood. It was Quade that she’d stuck, and she was glad for it, even if the damage was minimal. It hadn’t been Quade’s first time on the wrong end of a blade, either. The man was built like a lugnut, and he had a thin, shiny canyon of pink scar tissue snaking down across his face, from above his right eye to the edge of his left jaw. It must have been a real feat just to keep that pug nose intact. “You won’t be so feisty once you meet Mr. Talmidge, miss,” he drawled. He’d torn a section from his t-shirt and tied it tight over the gash she’d made in his forearm with the little pocket knife Brian had given her for her birthday so many years before. She’d finally had a chance to use it for something other than picking splinters.

“Stop hurting me,” the child sobbed as Pawl poked around Wallace’s raw injury. “Please, Mam, please…”

At the end of the block, wagons and horses lined the hitching posts at Herman’s General Store. Outside the store, a brawny man of medium height ran toward Pat, a brown apron flapped against his legs and his muscles strained against the black garters that held back the dark sleeves of his shirt. He pulled her close, the child between them, kissing Pat’s cheek before escorting her into the general

Once he was on the ground, I quickly tied a tourniquet with my belt just above his knee and formed a rough split. He would need medical attention soon. We made a stretcher. Corban was awake and aware of the situation now. We were going to have to move him. Without the proper pain medication… “Corban, we have to move you to the beach. It is going to be extremely painful. You can yell and scream as much as you want. We will try to make it as easy as possible. Okay?” I said. He looked at me with understanding eyes, nodded his head, and gritted his teeth. “Alright everyone, this is going to be difficult but not impossible we have to move as one person. Drew and Abi will take the front of the stretcher Samii and Hannah the sides. I will take the back. Any questions? Alright. Drew and I will lift Corban up while the rest of you slide the stretcher under him ok?” Solemnly nodding, we slowly lift Corban. He let out a blood curdling scream. The girls stunned for a moment shook it off and move the stretcher underneath him. We gently put him down. His breathing was fast and his pallid face dripped with sweat. “Alright let’s go.” The rest of the day was comparatively easy to getting Corban down to the beach. Hannah never let go of his hand and Samii soothingly talked to him interrupted by the stark cry of a human in immense pain. We got to the beach and

"Good! I like your train of thought. Here, take this pack of small healing potions. They will help you during battle."

“The wound is sealed now,” noted Pawl, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “He’s less likely to get an infection with the cauterization, but I’ll need to keep a close watch on his recovery, especially for the first several days. He’s lost a great deal of blood and his health his still at risk. And there’s the matter of managing the pain, too, which will be… significant.”

After years, she still recounts the vivid pain of getting her wounds sewed back. With one eye open and the other still under the drowsiness of anesthesia, she looks on as the doctor holds the baby and smacks her bottom to trigger her cry for oxygen expanding her lungs to taste air for the first time. The first birthday starts off with relations chastising this fourth installment in a series of daughters, with wicked whispers and scandalous stares of an unsuccessful abortion, unfortunate birth and an unavailing adoption. (4 sentences)

Her arm bleeds profusely—it’s getting everywhere, down her shirt and splattered against her cheek in a smear of dark red, up on her forehead, almost in her hair, dripping patterns onto the stone of his father’s grave.

“Y'all quit worrying about those two men,” she said. “We need to get your brother unloaded and into the house, then I can fix y'all some supper.”

Jenna stood. She grabbed a compact mirror from her clutch. She redid her lipstick, a neutral tone of pink, and smoothed out her hair. “Alright. I’ll send him to your residence this evening.”

His mouth curves into parenthesis. “You’re in the hospital,” he begins. “Don’t worry, it’s normal to be disoriented after The Cut.”

​The doctor has strength of observation when he describes the mother as, “A big startled-looking big, very clean and apologetic,” and the child as “Fully dressed.” Also, he does not forget to report their acts when he says, “The child was fairly eating me up.”