A quick hunt in the creek offered him the space to step into his new role. Eltrys had caught a small vole skittering onto the ice seeking melted water. It was just as confused as him about this intense winter spell.

His talk with Saga was a momentous one. One he had a feeling would come to him one day, though he was surprised it had been so soon. He hoped to let the news permeate the others before he intended to call them all in with the surprise. Perhaps he could meet with each member and listen to their grievances, soothe their worries, inspire their trust...

The vole was clenched in his teeth as he softly approached the falls and the entrance toward Haydee's den. He had never been inside. He didn't know how large it was within. He didn't know if the hanging stalactites had met their stalagmites. He didn't know how stable the cavern would be.

He made his common greeting chuff. The one he made when he wanted her to come out and they could talk. He waited for a few beats, the sounds of the falls crashing beside him. He wuffed louder around the vole in his teeth and waited another moment.

Concern creased his brow as the entrance remained empty. No sound or shuffle gave him comfort to know she was coming. Nothing. His heart dropped in his stomach and threatened to drop out of his chest entirely at the thought of leaving her alone at a crucial moment. His breathing shallowed, shuddering as he looked at the top of the den entrance, his toes frozen to the earth.

He had to go inside. He had to know she was okay. He lifted a foot but found himself pushed back by his own fear of the crushing cavernous stalactites, sharp and deadly hanging from high ceilings. He drew in a trembling breath, he didn't know if there were dangerous stalactites even in there, some caves didn't have them. He caught a scent that wafted over his nose and urged him further. Sickness. Infection! Haydee!

The urge to find her overwhelmed him and pulled him into the den! The scent of sickness and infection hit him like a wall. He threw the vole aside and rushed to her crumpled form.

"Haydee!" Her small frame was so frail and fragile, tiny compared to him.


"Speech!"

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Winter had arrived in a snap, leaving Auster covered in ice. The frigid conditions had been unexpected and, just as Haydée had been regaining her spark of life, illness has struck her down. It had been soon after the freeze had settled in that she had felt the need to go and talk with the grave of her father so, one frigid night, she had trekked from her den to the little graveyard that housed the remains of the man whom she missed deeply. She had spent that cold night pouring her soul out to the ghosts of those who had once been alive, even as a chill had settled into her bones. Still, the small woman had remained there with no coat or furs to offer to her warmth as she spoke of things she had held onto for too long.

With the raising of the sun, she had slipped back into the familiar confines of her den and, as she retreated the cold air had tickled her throat and pulled a cough from her lips. Exhaustion had quickly pulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep and, when she awoke, the cough had remained. Throughout the next several days, that cough had deepened, turning from dry to wet and weak to deep as the illness infiltrated her lungs. A fever confined her to her bed and ripped through her already frail body, stealing what little fat she had been able to build up and leaving her trembling and weak in its wake.

Fear tried to root itself in her brain but the small woman was too sick to realize just how bad the sickness was. Time passes by as a blur, reality blurring with fever days to leave her confused and alone. A voice pulls her from the slurry of dreams that feel real, vivid, horrible, and strange all at the same time and her fever bright emerald eyes slowly blink open. Her breathing is ragged, the fluid that has built up in her lungs slowly and is slowly drowning her on dry land can be heard with every inhalation and exhaltion. Yet, even in her compromised state the sight of Eltrys blurry form materializing in front of her eyes pulls a smile to her lips and causes her heart to flutter in her chest.

Pulling in a breath to say his name, the simply drag of air against the back of her throat sends her into a coughing fit that rattles her frame and sparks pain deep inside her chest. Features crumple as she tries to curl into herself and force the horrible, wet, wrecking coughs to cease so that she can merely breath. The world dissolves as Haydée’s eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking out the corners at the sheer agony that the coughing fit causes her. Finally, the fit subsides and she whimpers pitifully as she tries to even out her breathing.

Eyes snap open and in a sudden moment of clarity, her too bright eyes, glazed with fever, find Eltrys’s artic blue gaze and she mutters weakly, “I don’t feel well.” Her voice is raspy, thin as paper and cracks at the end as another, less intense fit seizes her for a moment. Thoughts muddle together, the illness so deeply rooted in her body that Haydée doesn’t even know how much has passed since she first felt sick. Frail form shivers violently as the fever rages and she curls toward the taller man, seeking comfort in his strong arms while also seeking the warmth her body so desperately craves.

Every breath is too loud, too ragged to be called normal and the way her chest shudders every now and then speaks of the effort it takes for the normally simple task. In the relative silence of the den, her voice broken whimpers out, “It hurts.” Tears flow down her cheeks as she tries to suppress the cough that wells in her throat, not wanting to experience the agony that comes with the fits while also knowing it is only a matter of time until it will rip itself free.


"Haydée Kedieo"

He gathered her to his chest. Her tiny body radiated a firestorm of heat. His heart rampaged within him to scream, WHO DID THIS. Though her symptoms were clear when he felt her body wrack and tremble with her cough against him. His teeth found his lip as his breath caught in his own chest, hearing the wet unproductive cough. This was beyond his capacity to heal. He knew field medicine, he knew how to patch up a wound and stop the bleeding. He knew the rituals to perform to ask the goddess for blessing to heal a babe drowning in her own lungs. Wait...

Her glazed half delirious emerald eyes found his glaciers. Her weak attempt to tell him she didn't feel good had him biting back a sharp panicked retort—something about shit and Sherlock. His mind ran numb as she snuggled into him, seeking the warmth her body craved, despite the veritable hellfire her skin exuded.

He glanced about, usually the warm Auster nights didn't need hearths in their dens but this was a strange winter and he had an idea. He'll apologize later if she protests the placement of her new fireplace. While holding her with one arm he quickly rakes his strong arms into the dirt. Grateful it wasn't pure stone around them. He dug a shallow pit and found some empty unused sticks and a cotton rag. He quickly stuck those in the pit. It wouldn't be enough.

"I will be back. Stay here." He growled, laying her carefully on her bed. The bedding will need to be refreshed and the old will need to be burned but not in here. He bolted out of the den.

...
It took him longer than he liked. Half an hour later he still found himself balked at the door gathering his nerves to push through the cavernous memories. With a huff he strode in like he owned the place. Well... He kind of owns the place now...

He quickly dug the pit a little deeper and carved a channel for airflow. He had brought a huge basket filled with sticks and herbs from the stores, sage, oregano, thyme, and rosemary. Lighting the fire was easy with his practiced hand.

Maybe it wasn't the chants and the rituals that cured the infants of their wetlungs. Maybe it was the sacred smoke with which they doused over them. Many a mother screamed at the priests believing they were going to roast the child in a sacrifice when the smoke would start to billow over them.

He glanced at her, fragile, skinny body. He swore in the light he could count every rib.

Once the small fire was going, he threw a handful of herbs over it, he couldn't help to say the words he had so often recited.

"Come." He growled, lifting her up, his warning to let her know he was moving her. He brought her next to the small fragrant blaze. The medicinal smoke should help encourage her lungs to heal to clear the air in the den. Antibacterials entered the air for her to breathe and treated her. She would need several days of this smoke and many teas.

He sat with her cradled against him, fanning the smoke toward her.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

Strong arms lift her frail body, pulling her toward the brown chest she has longed for some time to bury her face in. Her thoughts are sludge, moving so agonizingly slow that the world seems to be out of focus and distant. Each raspy inhale is followed by a wheezing, rattling exhale that leaves her body trembling from the effort it requires for such a simple task. Body curls inward toward Eltrys, seeking, not only warmth but the comfort that he offers.

Haydée drifts on an ocean of delirium, half awake and half dreaming as she lays curled against him. One of those warm arm leaves her and she whimpers pitifully, shivering at the cold space where it had just been and her body weakly curls further into the warmth that is left. Sounds filter into her consciousness, merging with her vivid half-dream, half-reality and only adding to her confusion. A cough rattles her chest, the unproductive, yet wet, expulsion sparking pain deep inside her body.

He is lifting her small body and she is putty in those strong arms, too tired and weak to protest if she even wanted to. His voice breaks through the fog of her mind, telling her stay there and she blinks open fever glazed emerald eyes to look dolefully up at him, silently begging him not to leave her because she is scared. All too quickly, her eyelids flutter shut and she twists on her bedding, falling into a fitful sleep as she dreams of Eltrys holding her while he is gone.


---
A presence enters her den, familiar and comforting and Haydée blindly gropes for the man before she is even awake. She fights her way through the muddy dreams, raising to consciousness so that she can slowly blink open her eyes. Raspy voice calls out, “El… I’m cold.” A blurry earthen form slowly resolves and she watches as he works on something before she tries to gather her legs underneath her so that she might reach him. Trembling legs support her for a few seconds before she collapses back onto the soft furs with a rolling coughing fit.

Eltrys growls at her, lifting her thin form so easily and moving her without trouble. She is settled near a small fire, the smoke directed toward her and Haydée suddenly panics. It tickles her throat, encouraging her body to cough but the pain that accompanies it terrifies her and the fact that the man she trusts explicitly is forcing this pain on her perplexes her. Body twists and contorts as she tries to get away, mouth snapping shut as she attempts to keep the smoke from reaching her.

Her small body is cradled against his strong form and her weak thrashing finally ceases as she is forced to inhale. A deep, rattling, harsh coughing fit seizes her and Haydée is forced to ride the wave as agony settles over her mind. It erases the world around her as she tries to breathe. The medicinal smoke pulls cough after cough from her, leaving her already weak body exhausted and she slumps against Eltrys as the fit subsides. A soft, trembling voice pierces the space around her as she pleads, “It hurts.”

The smoke continues to work, pulling more coughs from her chest and Haydée remains there, cradled against his body while Eltrys tries to draw out the illness that had settled into her lungs.


"Haydée Kedieo"

She called him El...

He paused his work for a few breaths when he felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. He wished she'd lay back down... The trembling, the fever, and the coughing were only to get worse if she got up!

He gathers her up and cradles her next to the smoke. Suddenly she was thrashing against him, she was scared of the smoke. He knew it wouldn't be pleasant. He tried to shush her with a soothing sound but her panic was just incensed. She finally relents to the smoke, inhaling sharply. Fuck, she wasn't supposed to inhale it all at once. And begins to cough in fits and wracking agony. He could see how much it hurt. How could they have brutally submitted infants to this agony in the name of some goddess? It was all he knew. His heart ached as he felt her cough and cough and tremble weakly.

Her weak voice is his breaking point.
"I know. I wish it didn't." He whispers, a hot tear falls from his own eyes, his own chest ripped asunder for her. Between fits he strokes the fur behind her ear, over her cheek, rubbing her back to somehow soothe the wracking terrible agony. He looks in the basket he brought. A pot and some peppermint.

"Lay here." He commands softly, making a nest of her bed furs. He grabs the pot and fills it with the water coming off the falls right over her den entrance. Once filled he makes a makeshift spit and hangs the pot over the fire. Continually stroking her shoulders as the pot begins to boil. He throws the peppermint into the pot and takes it off the fire to steep.

After several minutes he gives her a cup to carefully lap from. A splash of cold water in it to cool.
"Drink slowly." He said and carefully brought it to her lips. No doubt she was too weak to take it her self. Regardless, he brought her own paw up to the cup to help him control the amount. He didn't want to make it all worse by having her take more liquid into her lungs.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION