The Vampire & Her Witch

”M-Milo,” Ollie said, doing his best to hold his focus through the pain and exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. ”N-need help. P-p-push the b-bone in,” he said, nodding at the broken bone protruding from Lady Cerys’ left arm. ”So I c-can h-heal it n-n-next,” he said through chattering teeth.

”Ollie,” Milo said softly, looking at the young witch with worried eyes. ”You should stop here. You’ve saved her life already,” he said.

At this point, it took most of Milo’s strength just to anchor Ollie and Lady Cerys against the current. Ollie’s strength had faded so much that it was all he could do to stay upright and keep in contact with the woman he was healing, but supporting her weight was completely beyond him.

If Ollie went even further, Milo shuddered to think of what the consequences might be.

”H-have to, t-try,” Ollie insisted, glancing at the shore with his strangely dark eyes. While he noticed that Baron Loghlan, Sir Gavin, and Sir Bedwyr had joined them, all of his focus was on the smallest figure standing on the shore. It was for him, more than anyone else, that Ollie was fighting so hard, and he reminded himself of that as he turned his attention to the torn flesh of Cerys’ arm.

A mother would want to be able to hold her child with both arms, and little Dalwyn deserved to be held. Those were simple, pure feelings that Ollie could hold tightly to in order to shape the flow of power around him. Cerys’ flesh was torn, and he’d taken her into the stream despite the fact that she had such a deep, bloody wound. Now, he was afraid that his choice, even though it had been the right one, might cost her that arm if he couldn’t heal at least some of it.

Healing the broken bone was beyond him. He knew that. Milo wasn’t wrong that he should stop now, but he couldn’t do it. Not yet. Lady Heila had explained to him that the sickness that festered in open wounds could be more deadly than the wound itself. That was why it was so important to mend the flesh and cleanse wounds, even when you couldn’t heal the injury beneath the skin.

There would be time to heal her bones later. Right now, he just needed to mend the flesh in order to ensure that she’d live until later, when Ollie or someone else in the coven could finish what he’d started today.

That hope of a tomorrow, a tomorrow when things could be made even better, helped Ollie find the strength he needed to push just a little bit further, and he could feel the power of the world surging around him, bending to his will as he reached out to draw on even more power than he already had in a desperate bid to ensure that one day, even if it wasn’t today, a mother would be able to hold her child.

For a moment, Milo looked like he wanted to argue, but arguing would only take more time, and Ollie had already been in the stream for far too long. So, moving as gently as he could in the water, Milo carefully shifted his grip on Lady Cerys, allowing the current to keep her pressed against his body and using his tail to resist the current while he used his deft claws to straighten her broken limb and press the jagged bone back into the general place where it should be.

Lady Cerys whimpered in pain as the Eldritch archer manipulated her broken arm, but already, this was a good sign. It was the strongest cry of pain she’d made since slipping into unconsciousness.

”Bedwyr,” Loghlan said quietly as he gave the young boy in his arms the most reassuring hug he could. ”Can you get a fire started? I don’t know if any of this wood will still be fit to burn,” he said with genuine uncertainty.

”But when they come out of that stream, they’re going to be very cold. Sir Ollie might be fine,” he said, glancing briefly at the horned soldier who didn’t look entirely certain that he agreed with Loghlan’s assessment. ”But I’m sure that Lady Cerys will need the warmth of the fire, and Sir Cynwrig probably does as well,” he said, offering up human frailty as an excuse to create comfort that the Eldritch warriors might be too proud to admit they’d need.

”Dalwyn,” Loghlan added, pulling back slightly from the young man. ”I think your father could use your help with his socks and his boots,” he said, pointing to the shivering knight who had managed the wooden toggles of his tunic and his trousers but was now struggling with his feet that had grown stiff from standing on the frosty ground for so long.

”Papa!” Dalwyn cried when he realized that his father was struggling. All this time, he’d been worried about his mother, and he hadn’t even noticed that his father didn’t have any socks on his feet in the cold. Now that Uncle Baron had pointed it out, however, he quickly ran to his father to help him with his socks, before his mother could scold him.

”Papa,” Dalwyn asked when he arrived at his father’s side, hesitating as he glanced back toward the trio in the stream. ”Is... Is Mama going to be all right? She, she looks...”

”Hush now,” Cynwrig said lightly as he passed a thick, woolen sock over to his son. ”Your mama is going to be just fine,” he promised, believing it for the first time as he watched the torn flesh of her arm slowly knitting itself back together. ”Sir Ollie and Mister Milo have seen to that, so you make sure to thank them when they get back.”

”But for now, help your Papa get his socks and boots on,” he said as a fragile smile formed on his lips. ”It really is too cold outside today, and we should all go back somewhere warm soon. Together,” he promised.