The prompt for this was: healed by wind and sun. Summary: George's first knife fight ends in a slightly sticky situation.
George Cooper stared at his arm as he watched blood drip from a cut into a puddle, turning the mud maroon. He was filled with awe, having just won his first knife fight. Some of the older thieves clapped him on the back, congratulating him. He glowed with pleasure, feeling unstoppable. But as his arm began to sear with pain, fear flooded his body.
He may have been only eight, but he had seen enough of the Lower City fights to understand that disease, once a thief had been wounded, could take even those that had killed their opponents. He needed to see a healer immediately, that was clear, but he had no money to do so. His mother would be able to cleanse the wound, but she would surely punish him, and very harshly.
Sighing, he turned for home. George knew that he'd regret going to his mother later, but he had no choice. George had dreams of becoming the Rogue, and he could hardly be king of thieves if he was dead. He trudged through the streets, wincing as the pain in his arm sharpened like the knife that had sliced it. After what had seemed like an eternity, he reached his front door.
"Ma?" he asked, peering inside.
"George?" hsi mother dried her hands on a dirty rag and came to greet her son. Noticing his bloody arm, her expression darkened. "Been fighting, my son?"
George knew it was helpless to lie to his mother, and that doing so would only worsen the situation. "We was just practicin'" he mumbled.
"Talk properly!" she commanded as she cleaned his arm. George winced as her creams stung, suspecting that she was intentionally using the cheaper, more painful medicines. "I refuse to have my son sound like a common thief, and I certainly do not want him training to be one!" She wrapped a bandage around his arm and set the medicines on their shelves.
"Now come here, George Cooper. I believe you have a lesson to learn."