Thread: Out of Anguish (NurseMaxine and Traveler)

Her hands on his chest made his body shiver, and not from the cold. He wondered if she was going to kill him now that he was awake. Surely shed want to hear him scream as she took her vengeance for the death caused by the White Men? He didnt think that the savages differentiated between Redcoats and Revolutionaries, just like they didnt differentiate between tribes. His breath shot into his lungs as she touched him lower and lower on his abdomen, until her slim hands rested on his belt. When she unbuckled his trousers his eyes widened in both horror and disbelief. She was a harlot! She was going to disembowel him and unman him in one swift movement! His fear stilled him long enough to realize that she wasnt going to kill him. Not yet. Her fingers worked his trousers down his legs, baring the bruises and the cuts, and then finally the entry point of the arrows. He had initially thought that the arrow had pierced him perpendicularly, but now he saw to his horror that the shaft ran under his skin like a giant parasite. How it had managed to follow the space between skin and muscle was beyond him. It meant that he was probably not as injured as he thought, but the chances of infection were greater. The young man shook his head at her words. What? I dont understand you, he shook his head, trying to figure out what kind of strange spell she might have been casting. Werent they all witches and evil savages? He was resigned to suffering a long and painful death from infection when she pulled out a bayonet. His eyes widened in horror. No no I dont please He swore she was going to put it through his heart, but instead she placed his hand on her thigh. Her warm, taut, slim thigh. Hed never touched a woman there before, and his breaths slowed as his eyes were drawn to the place where his body and hers met. A searing flame went down his leg causing Alexander to arch his back and scream out in pain. He gripped her like his hold on life depended upon it. He collapsed into a weak heap once she was done, and though the water stung it felt like a cleansing flame, and all he could do was pant while he waited for the torment to end. He sat up weakly when she went back to the stream, and he unlaced his boots and pulled them off, then he did the same to his trousers. The last thing he wanted was to put the bloodstained and filthy pants back on now that he had a long cut exposed to everything. He was only glad that the cold weather meant that the biting flies were less prevalent. They were known to torment a horse until it ran itself off a cliff in the effort to escape them. For whatever reason she had helped him. She had taken him from the battlefield, brought him to shelter, and removed the arrow. He was still sitting when she returned. Behind her the sun was beginning to dim in the sky. She came to him then, adding wood to the fire and then spreading out the blanket she had found over their bodies before sliding in beside him. He didnt know what to think of her. As they laid there, her hand on his chest in small, soothing circles, lulled him back to sleep. He woke later that night so see her eyes stained with tears and the sight moved him. Caressing her face gently with his opposite hand he bent his face up to kiss her forehead. Thank you. His voice was a whisper in the night. He drew soft strands of her long hair through his fingers and watched the inky tresses fall through his fingers like silky waves. It felt unreal. This morning he was poised to fight and now he was lying next to a woman he didnt know. He had been plucked from the hand of death. She had plucked him. Somehow this woman, who had possibly lost her entire family, had seen him alive on that field and decided that she would save him. His head spun at the revelation. He rested his head against hers and whispered thank you again, but whether he was speaking to God Almighty or to the little squaw at his side was anyones guess. He wasnt even sure who he was thanking. The next morning he awoke and found her still nuzzled up to him. In the pale light of morning he could see her features better. She was pretty, in a strong, feminine way. She looked young enough to not yet be married, but certainly old enough to be looking for a husband. Her hair was long and thick, and her eyelashes brushed her cheeks like mink fur. He saw that she had a comely dress on, marred only by the places where she had torn from it to get a cloth for his cleaning. It struck him as sacrificial that she would take from her own clothing to clean his wounds. It reminded him of the lady who washed the Lords feet with her long hair. How had he been so lucky to have crossed paths with her?