Good morning all. We have a temporary reprieve in the rain where we are although I believe Fred plans to send more our way. At least yesterday’s all day soaker softened the ground up a bit from the sun baked brick it was so that the rest of the rains coming this week might actually sink in a bit more instead of running directly off and causing more flooding issues. At least that is my theory. But it is nothing I can do anything about so instead, I’ll just get my day started with a writing prompt. Anyone else in? Good, then let’s go.
This one could be fun. I’d clearly need to spend some time figuring out a little history, but depending on the message, this could be a fun story to play around with for a bit.
Wednesday, August 18th: I carried him some water to drink.
I carried him some water to drink. His chest heaved up and down and his breath was loud as he gulped in great lungfuls of air. For a time, he couldn’t take the water, he could just sit there on the grass trying to breath. Gradually, his breath became more labored.
I handed him the cup.
He drank it town in one sweeping upward tilt. When he lowered it, I refilled it from the pitcher I carried in the other hand. This one he drank more slowly, holding each sip in his mouth for a ten count before swallowing it.
As his breath returned to normal and he was able to drink, his sweat cooled and he shivered. Not only was he sitting in the shade but he was dressed for warmer climes. He was also dressed to run in warmer climes.
“Were you injured?” I asked.
I wasn’t certain if it was allowed to provide official messengers with additional clothing while they were on duty. The outfit, what there was of it, was standardized so they could be identified. Until he passed his message on to the village leaders, he was still here in an official capacity.
He looked at me and drank the last of the water from the cup. I moved to refill it but he waved me off. I took the empty cup and he stood. He was wobbly on his feet. Not all of the wobbles were from exhaustion. He had been hit in the leg as he made the last push past the warring tribes dominating the lowlands. The wound bled but the blood flow stopped. It was a clean hit and didn’t look as though it damaged anything permanently.
“May I?” I asked, pointing to his wound. His eyes flicked to the healers badge pinned to my shoulder. He nodded slowly. I knelt and inspected the wound. “It will need to be cleaned and dressed,” I told him. “You’ll need rest and time to recoup before running off again.”
He nodded. In any other patient I would have made him repeat my instructions, but messengers weren’t allowed to speak until after their message was delivered.
“Do you want to deliver your message first?”
He nodded.
“All right then,” I replied. “I’ll take you in, and then take you to the healing hall.”
He smiled and nodded. He was hobbling and the action of continued movement cause more blood to dribble from the wound. It wasn’t debilitating deep but it would need tending. I monitored him and it as we made our way into the town proper.
Gerson’s Ridge wasn’t much of a town. We were an outpost that grew moderately larger and were then cut off from most of the surrounding outposts. Our village leader wasn’t a duly elected anything, but merely the former commander of the outpost. When the Empire left this part of the world, it mostly left those stationed at the far corners where they were. It was too cost prohibitive to bring them home. The officers were de commissioned but the Commander still held authority and his senior officers were his council. Most days they still wore their uniforms. Not much had really changed in that regard. There were of course other changes.
Ten til Midnight 