Raven could think of little more than the pain as he weakly strode toward Marnie's house. He knew that he had been terrible, throwing marnie's fine things around the house and leaving in an uproar. He hated it when he lost control of himsefl. His anger had stemmed from trying to please the young woman. He supposed that if he were not so stupid, then people might take the time to try to understand him better. Perhaps if more of his own had done what Marnie had been trying to do, then his back would not be covered with bloody stripes.
Father Brannan had not been at the church. He was no-where to be found. Raven concluded that the only one who might be willing to help him was Marnie. Raven stepped over the thresh-hold and leaned against the door post, breathing deeply. Marnie, who had been eating soup at her table, looked surprised and not particularly happy to see him. The young man felt his fmailiar friend Fear crawling up his spine. Would she abuse him like th others? He hoped with all his heart that she would not. He was too tired to defend himself.
Raven lifted his hands, making the sign of the cross across his chest and next made the symbol for house. He then shook his head, telling marnie that Father brannan was not at home.
She answered him in sign language, "He is looking for you."
Raven slumped against the door frame, his weariness taking him over. Marnie looked alarmed. She jumped to her feet and supported his weight as the trudged to the table chair. He was shaking violently. His clothes would suredly be stained for good after this. There was so much blood. Raven felt Marnie lightly touch his arm. He looked into her eyes and saw that where there had been hate and fear in the town's people's, there was compassion and understanding in her's.
He signed the story of his condition as best he could to her. He told her that he had been looking for bread in the villiage and that the people had brutally whipped him. Acting the event out as best he could, Raven was stopped by Marnie who was clearly disturbed by the mime.
Marnie stood to put some water over the fire. she also took from her chest of belongings, some strips of cloth for cleaning. Raven watched her and signed that he needed father Brannan, for he had been the one to wash Raven's wounds after a whipping such as this.
Marnie signed in reply, "I will clean you."
Raven stood up and with the young woman's support, walked toward the bed. When she let go, he began to undress. The man thought little of the fact that Marnie had pointedly turned away from him as he peeled off his clothes. he figured that she was still angry with him.
The pain was intensified by the pulling of his clothing. Raven's dried wounds were sticking to the cloth and it hurt something awful to re-open those stripes which had managed to close a bit. When finally he was naked, Raven lay on his stomach, sighing in relief as his body hit the soft blankets.
After a few momets, Marnie had knelt beside Raven. He noticed ol when she set the candle near his face. The woman held out a wet cloth. The youth took it, washing his face and hands of the grime upon him. He groaned in pain from the movement though he was still lying down. His wrists had blue bruises around them and Marnie could only imagine that they were the leavings of tightly strung cords.
Afer Raven finished, Marnie began to wash all he blood from Raven's body. The welts extended from the back of his neck to the backs of his thighs. The guilty party has spared him no mercy. Marnie believed that the whipping had been much worse than that of the whipping she witnessed when first she arrived in Torcurra. Raven was crying and groaning in pain, his face buried in the pillow. Marnie's heart ached for the young man. Nothing he could have done would have been worthy of this terrible thing they had done to him. The thought that this kind of pain was all too common to Raven cut Marnie deeply.
When his back was clean, Marnie retrieved the bottle of ointment from her chest that her mother had given her for cuts and burns. She smoothed the soothing oil all over his body. More than the coolness of the healing liquid, Raven welcomed the feel of loving hands on his body. The man could not remember a time he had been touched so gently. Even Father Brannan had not cared for him like this. Her hands, which served as his only real comunication with the world around him, were now making a new word. One which he had not imagined existed for some-one like him. The intense aching finally subsiding a bit, Raven fell asleep.