Healing
Awareness, like a fog, crept to his mind, interrupting the recriminations of the Keeper. Content to let his focus come in its own time, he drifted on the top of consciousness, skimming the edge of the waking world.
He could feel fabric against his skin. His head ached. His teeth were grimy, and a bitter acid had taken up residence in his throat.
So he was alive.
Rustling and footsteps, the sounds of liquid sloshing. He could smell wood smoke.
He opened his eyes and immediately shut them against the light, holding his breath to keep his captor from knowing of his awareness.
Opening his eyes the tiniest of slivers to allow them to adjust, he observed his surroundings. A ramshackle cabin, reasonably clean. Everything looked well worn, yet serviceable. He himself was on a pallet on the floor, a surprisingly soft rag of a blanket his only covering.
All of these things he took in within a moment. It was the woman with her back to him that captured his attention. With long, somewhat tangled blonde hair, she was wearing the garb of a Sister of the Light. She was not wearing the veil and her robes were stained along the hems, but there was no mistaking what they identified her as.
She stirred something in a pot hanging over the fire in the fireplace in the corner. The sloshing sounds… soup, or medicine.
She must have healed him… but why? She could not be a Sister of the Dark; they had their orders from the Keeper to send him back to the Underworld. He doubted that a Sister of the Light would grant him aid unless they wished for something in return.
A hatchet sat with a basket by the door, most likely for gathering fire wood. If he was silent and quick, he could reach it before she knew of his return to the world of the waking.
He shifted his weight, preparing to make his escape.
"I would not do that were I you," said the Sister, her voice pleasant.
He froze, briefly considered rolling over and feigning sleep, but decided against it.
"What, pray tell, was I going to do, Sister?"
"Something foolish," she answered as she picked up a clay jar from the mantle and sprinkled its contents into the pot over the fire.
He stiffened, his first desire to strike out at the one who dared speak to him so… but he could not deny the merit of her words. Running from the cabin clad only in a blanket and armed only with a hatchet when he had no idea where he was; it was most definitely foolish.
As he pulled himself into a more comfortable position, the Sister began spooning the slop in the pot into a rough clay bowl.
"I have been feeding you soup and water the past few days, but it was difficult to get you to swallow enough. You will need to eat now."
She turned, staring down into the soup bowl, taking careful slow steps to avoid spilling.
"Days? How long-"
She interrupted, "Three or four. It is hard for me to keep track."
She slowly, and not ungracefully, knelt at his side, still staring down into the bowl.
"Do you need any help sitting up?"
He was already sitting up, and had just opened his mouth to question her intelligence when she looked up and her milky white eyes met his.
She was blind.