If there was something that Isobel really, really, really missed from the then it was the Internet. She had no qualms about admitting her longing for that specific progress in the course of human evolution. Not to deny the awesomeness of, well, most of the things available in the twenty-first century but, seriously? The Internet, hands down.
Had she had access to the Internet she could have just typed out 'how to deal with injured birds' and she would have found all the informations she needed to deal with the falcon in the most swift, efficient and useful way possible. Or she could have typed out 'how to deal with pissed off animals' and wouldn't had that been useful? Even 'how to exorcise an animal' would have probably got a few hits.
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The falcon hadn't took too kindly (to put it mildly) to being manhandled, no matter how carefully and injured wing not-withstanding. It had also expressed its discontent loudly and quite viciously.
As things stood, after a long, fierce and bloody (literally, on her part) battle she had managed to wrap the bird in one of her shirts, careful to leave it's head out but to also immobilize it, at the expense of her hands and forearms (hence the 'bloody' part).
They had already gotten damaged during the washing of the wound (she was relatively sure the wing had already been set, having seen the Healer trafficking with it before she had found the animal shoved in her arms, but washing the wound couldn't be bad for the animal's health) but the beast had treated her impromptu bath as an indignity bestowed on him and had reacted going all out in his efforts to either get free, made her bleed or both. It, as she had renamed the little beast in her head, had succeeded only in the second one.
Isobel sympathy for the animal, which had been a lot in the beginning, was starting to wear thin. Still, it was Tristan's bird and it was injured so she had still created the little hellion a sort of nest to rest in, in her chamber, once it had been secured in the makeshift fabric prison.
She had pulled together a fair number of scrapes of cloth, the ones she had been saving to use as patches on shirts and trousers too damaged to be simply stitched back together, and had put them in the darkest corner of her room, taking care to control that the warmth of the fire still reached it.
She had come to her room every time she was passing near it, or she had a moment of pause, to check on the animal and she had even gone as far as to sacrifice meat from her own dinner to the beast appetite (the cook apparently didn't cared much for the health of Tristan's bird, which confirmed Isobel's low opinion of the man's intelligence). It wasn't what had been asked of her, so she had clearly gone far above and far beyond the call of duty for the little hellion.
And yet, the blasted bird had kept her awake most of the night, causing a ruckus anytime she even hazarded half a step away from it and towards her bed. Apparently, the bird expected her to act as entertainment at the expense of her sleep and if she didn't complied It wasn't above trying to wake up the whole wing of the Fort with its protestations.
Dragging her blanket towards her, Isobel settled next to the nest of the spawn and watched It from the corner of her eye.
"You're a fucking pain the ass." She growled at the far-too-awake animal, keeping her voice low while she huddled under the cover, drawing her knees to her chest. It glared back, clearly unimpressed with her or, possibly, with the quality of her own glare and growl. It was Tristan's bird, after all, it may have very well been the second possibility.
"I mean it. I did much more than what I could have done and you still keep demanding more and more. Had I known you were such a difficult beast I would have gone and dumped you into someone else's hands." She added, taking care of covering her feet the best she could (she had her shoes on but there was no sense in letting her feed get colder then the rest of her body).
It screeched, though it was far less of a loud sound than the ones that had come out when she had tried to go to bed. It didn't seemed to be particularly happy or satisfied but that was to be expected. Isobel remembered somewhat nebulous notions about animals being able to pick up the human's moods through body language and voice tones and she was definitely Not. Happy. with the little hellion, at the moment.
"Yes, yes. You don't like me, I don't like you. Not my choice, you know? I haven't seen any of the knights, and for once I tried to search for them, and the ones in the Healer Rooms are kept out of it by liberal application of opium through doses of poppy-seed extract." She mumbled, less testily and more resigned, sleep starting to creep on her.
It wasn't the bird fault that it had been entrusted to her nor that the knights had suddenly become so busy that she hadn't been able to track one down. It didn't made her any more sympathetic to the animal plight (her hands and forearms stung and she had to bear it in silence since the Healers were busy with those who really needed their medical expertise) but she couldn't hold on to a grudge the way she would have had things been different.
Also, the beast had finally quieted down, allowing her to close her eyes and relax, her still-clad-back pressed against the blanket and the tepid stones of her bedroom wall. It had been a long day, full of food to be cooked (there was always more cooking to be done with the knights back in the Fort and even more in preparation for the waking of the injured) and clothes to be sorted and prepared to mend (she was just glad that her work in the kitchen exonerated her from the washing routine, the blood must have been terrible to get out), made even longer by her stops to check on the little hellion situation.
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Isobel had just closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, according to her internal clock, when a furious screech tore her from sleep, followed by a familiar knocking. Briefly giving It the evil eye, Isobel got up and launched the blanket back on her bed calling a brief "Coming!" towards the door.
Her body felt stiff and she had quite a few kinks in her neck and back that she could have done without. It was to be expected, what with sleeping on the floor and everything. It screeched again and made some sort of movement, as if trying to hop up.
"No!" She hissed to It, shaking her head for good measure. "It's Ethelind, calm down." She added, in a more soothing tone, while she straightened her dress and patted her head, confirming that her braid had to be redone. The falcon didn't seemed particularly pleased but it settled down, sternly looking at her with a clear lack of approval for her actions. Though luck for the little hellion, she had work to do.
"I'll be back as soon as I can, maybe I'll sneak something for you to eat." She promised, knowing that the animal wouldn't understand her. She also knew that there was no need to inform the beast of her intentions but she still spoke the words out to It nonetheless.
She undid the ribbon at the end of her braid and opened her door, nodding to Ethelind while treading her fingers through the brown locks. A screech followed her out, even though she had quickly shut the door behind herself. The other maid giggled and then smirked, clearly amused by her predicament. Ethelind sometimes was a little piece of shit, something that Isobel dearly appreciated.
"I take it the falcon isn't pleased with you?" The other maid inquired, giggling again while they started down the corridor. Isobel rolled her eyes and tied her head in a high ponytail, tugging the ribbon to ensure the firmness of the knot.
"It's an ungrateful little bastard, or bitch depending on the gender." She grumbled and Ethelind's eyes sparkled with mischief at hearing the coarse language. The other maid knew far too well that Isobel had a mouth that could put some soldiers to shame, though she was careful not to let it run when they weren't alone, and she found it exhilarating to hear such words spill out so easily from her friend's lips.
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"I heard the falcon screeching for quite a while, last night, before the sound finally went down." Ethelind admitted, thoroughly enjoying the way Isobel's eyes darkened and her mouth set. It was such fun being around her when she was in a mood like the one she was in! Her more acerbic side tended to come out in such occasions. Ethelind could count on some really viciously whispered commentary, now, which suited her tastes much more than the silly conversations she could have engaged in with other maids.
Wheat blonde where the other girl had spent brown hair, with rosy cheeks, a full figure and a healthy complexion, Ethelind managed to attract far more attention then her taller friend ever did. Isobel impressive height and plain looks not-withstanding, the girl had managed to avoid drawing attention to herself by virtue of her utter dedication to her job.
If she wasn't preparing ingredients, she was cooking. If she wasn't cooking, she was checking the stockpiles. If she wasn't checking the stockpiles, she was sorting the laundry to find clothes to mend. If she wasn't sorting the laundry, she was mending. If she wasn't mending, she was folding. If she wasn't folding, she was helping preparing more food. It was a vicious cycle that started in the early morning and went on until Isobel retired after supper to crash in her bed for the night.
Ethelind had, in more than one occasion, unsuccessfully tried to draw the other girl out. To go to tavern, have a drink and maybe get picked up by one of the knights. Or maybe, to stay in the kitchen and gossip about the going-ons of the Fort, though Ethelind couldn't really fathom why Isobel refused to share her bed with a knight. Isobel was a widow, after all, and as such she must have already been introduced to the world of carnal relationships.
The only reason Ethelind had managed to think of was that her husband hadn't been all that much and had put her off sex altogether, the poor thing. She had no way of knowing for sure, though, since trying to talk with Isobel about her marriage was as easy as pulling teeth out of a dragon's mouth. While the dragon was awake. And hiccuping flames. And suffering from toothache, too. Yes, that seemed the most accurate comparison she could think of.
"The beast didn't liked me sleeping in my bed. It refused to quiet down until I settled on the pavement near it." Isobel grumbled, hands smoothing down her dress, and Ethelind had to suppress a new wave of mirth. She could just imagine what the woman had told the bird, in the secrecy of the room and with no one to hear her going on and venting what she really thought.
"I'm sure today you will manage to pin down a knight long enough to tell them about the animal." She soothed, hoping dearly in her heart for Lancelot to be the one. The knight had come out relatively unscathed from the battle they had been in and she knew for a fact that he didn't really cared about plain looks as long as the woman in his arms was willing, which meant that he wouldn't be above flirting with Isobel. Maybe he would even go as far as taking her rejection as a challenge!
"Stop smirking. I hate it when you smirk that way. The last time you smirked that way you tried to drag me to the tavern to set me up with Dagonet." Isobel warned and Ethelind was unable to keep her mirth in, giggling as she remembered how fast her friend had turned around when she had caught on where they were going and why Ethelind was extolling the Sarmatian Knight's virtues.
"I hate you." Isobel muttered and Ethelind giggles turned into a full blown laugh. She couldn't help it, especially knowing how false the statement was. She also knew, from experience, that it was indicative of the other woman resignation to Ethelind's schemes, meaning that Isobel would allow her to try to put them in action just to thwart them as soon as she caught up.
It was, indeed, the funniest game Ethelind had ever played in her whole life, for that was all that it was for her. A game between friends, no malice involved and without any serious purpose (except managing to help Isobel get over her issues with enjoying her life a little).
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So, apparently Isobel shouldn't have preoccupied herself with avoiding and trying to keep out of the way of the Sarmatian's knights, because the knights themselves were more slippery than fucking eels. Going to Arthur Castus himself was out of question, because who was she to ask the commander of the Fort to care for a beast she had been ordered to deal with? Especially when the Fort was the commander had his hands already full and was three knights less? No one, that's who she was.
If only his blasted knights had been easier to pin down! It seemed as if she was playing some sort of demented hide and seek, dividing her attention between the chores she was tasked with, checking up on the animal and trying to find one Sarmatian knight. She didn't even cared about which one, as long as it was conscious and out of the Healing Rooms!
Realistically speaking, she knew she should have just sucked it up, dealt with it and went on with her life, but she couldn't help feeling uneasy in taking care of the bird. It made her nervous, because what if it healed wrong? What if she had screwed up some way and ruined the scout's favorite pet chances of flying again?
Which was why that afternoon, once she had given up (for the moment) on trying to track down a knight, she had managed to get a hold of the healer named Jols and convinced him to take a look at the riotous little hellion, taking the man to her room to check on the beast's health.
"I'm telling you, girl, that I work with humans not animals." The healer protested, ignoring the screeching sounds made by It as he studied the wing, carefully avoiding the talons and beak. He was quite clearly irritated by the many protestations the animal was offering but his hands remained steady and gentle.
Isobel was horrible at lying. Not because she didn't know how to do it (she did) but because her face could have been set as an example of the term "like an open book". She had no poker face, never had it and probably never would. She had been told as much many times and she had, in time, learned to harness the way her face and eyes acted as a mirror as a strength.
So, she either told the truth or twisted the words so that what she was saying was matched to what she was feeling, omitting what she didn't wanted to say. Right now, with Jols, it was half and half.
"Bones are bones. I just don't want it to heal badly, everyone knows that this is the Sarmatian's scout animal and..." She left the phrase pending, wincing as It continued its loud protest and wriggled. She really, really didn't wanted to gather any attention, less of all the attention of one of the Sarmatian's knights. Less of all, the attention of a man whose favorite pet she had allowed to heal in such a way that left the beast crippled.
"Well, it seems to have been set properly, girl. You're doing a decent job, I suppose, keeping it strapped and down." The man grumbled, taking back her shirt and winding it around It's body, in a far better way than the one she had improvised.
"And don't think I didn't notice the way you got cut up. Come to the Healing Rooms, later, and I'll see how the scratches are doing." Jols continued, without waiting from an answer on her part. It was an order but one that wasn't completely unwelcome.
Yes, Isobel could think of about one million things she could do with her time that were better than venture in a room full of doped up people she had been studiously avoiding for the last few months. At the same time, they were going to be doped up and maybe, just maybe, she could finally intercept one of their brother in arms (maybe someone coming to either visit or ask informations about the injured ones) and get free of the animal before his master awoke. Not to mention that she really thought it would be better to let her scratches looked at. A couple of them had looked deep, since the blasted beast had been trying to carve her up.
"Do you think poppy-seed extract would be bad for It?" She asked, thinking of getting a good night sleep with the bird as doped up as his master currently was, just in case she didn't manage to get a hold of one of the knights.
Judging by the withering look Jols shot her, though, it was completely out of question. The following tirade about wasting precious resources on an animal who didn't needed them (with underscore of indignant screeching for the newly re-bound falcon) robbed her of any hope for a good night sleep, were she to fail.
She took it meekly, nodding in all the right points and promising not to bother Jols again with such stupid questions. It strengthened her resolve to track down one of the Sarmatians and get rid of the beast, if nothing else.
To the Healing Rooms it was, then, hoping that after dinner the remaining knights wouldn't just scamper down at the tavern to get drunk. Isobel wasn't comfortable with the idea of trying to get their attention there, knowing how it could be interpreted.
It screeched particularly loudly as she set it back down in the makeshift nest and Isobel shot it a pissed off look, mentally agreeing with Jols muttered remonstrations on the stupidity of animals and their inability to realize when someone was helping them.
"Tell me about it." She muttered, getting back up.
Jols mistook her remark for an invitation and started ranting at a higher volume. Isobel didn't found herself too put out by it. It wasn't as if she didn't agreed, after all.
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AN: My thanks to you Scarlet Rebelle for adding this story to your story alert! It made my day :)
As you can see, things are starting to pick up. I'm not sure how much Isobel's likable, as of now, but I think of her as a person in a bad situation trying to get out it the faster she gets.
I ask forgiveness for any grammar / tense / spelling error. I'm working with the USA dictionary of Open Office but English is not my mother-language (I'm from Italy) and I have no beta as of now.
If any question, doubt or idea comes up, feel free to share it or ask it! I will answer and try to explain at the best of my abilities!
Following the POV of a single person is … interesting, to say the least. There are many things in play, many ways to view things, but since we're in Isobel and Ethelind's heads we see things in the way they see them. Many things that make sense from a certain point of view won't hold in another person own point of view. And I'm interested in knowing what any reader of this story has to say, if she / he wants to put some input in.
Thank you very much for reading!