Breath, Just Breath
Chapter 4: Rhythm and Feel
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO FOLLOW MY STORY. EVERY TIME I GET A NOTIFICATION ANOTHER PERSON HAS ADDED ME TO THEIR FOLLOWED LIST IT GIVES ME THE MOTIVATION TO CONTINUE THIS STORY.
SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. YAH, LIFE. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW.
We fell into an easy rhythm.
Well, as much as we could with my situation.
The stitches pulled when I bent over or lifted anything. Walking was a slow hobble, but I was getting better. Beorn said it will be easier once the stitches are out. Do not have to worry about them pulling at the healing skin but he warned me I still needed to take it easy once they were removed.
Which added even more work on Beorn.
On many occasions, he had to save me from a tumble or help me right something I dropped or knocked over in my hobbling.
But the large man never complained.
Beorn.
Never made an objection when I ignored his orders to stay in bed, and rest.
Never complaining when I over did it and had to tote me from the house, to the garden, and back the next day.
Giving me little odd jobs here and there so I felt like I was helping in some way when I was well aware him and his dogs carried the load.
He was a nice man.
And a hard working one.
Every morning before I got up, breakfast was ready. Chores were done. Animals fed. I was beginning to think he purposely did not do some chores to leave them for me to do. Give me something to do because it was what I asked.
Asked to be helpful.
Like sewing his shirt.
It was a learning process, one he had to sit beside me on the porch and walk me through step by step, but I was picking it up quickly. I do not know for sure, but I would like to think I was picking up sewing so quickly was because my hands remembered doing it in my previous life. Even if my head did not.
Stitching up a whole in the sleeve with a small swatch of fabric from a shirt that was not worth saving. He had a few similar spots on the shirt already.
What would he do once the shirt was more patches than fabric?
I pulled my eyes away from the shirt he asked me to mend.
"What?" My eyes met Beorn, leaning on one of the pillars on the porch, a bushel of peas at his feet.
"You were humming."
"I was?" I raked my brain, nothing. So absorbed in my task I did not even know I was doing it.
Beorn began to hum over my frustrated silence. A light, slow paced tune.
He stopped, and I continued. Picking up the melody as if I remembered it the entire time.
I smiled when I was finished, setting hopeful eyes on Beorn.
"I remember the tune, but no words." My happiness was dampened by that fact, but it was progress.
As Beorn said.
A garden does not grow over night.
A lot of tending and coaxing for weeks before the first sign of a sprout.
I would continue to coax.
Another reason I was eager to help. Hoping something I did would spark something. Anything. A memory. A feeling.
With a long sigh, Beorn settled himself on the stone porch next to me. Me occupying the only chair left him with that or sitting across from me on the railing. He pulled the basket of peas towards him and began shelling. His large thumb pushing in between two peas to slide the pod apart and scoop the small green balls out. His large hands making quick work of the engorged shells.
He began to sing.
A song I was not familiar with but one with the same kind of tune as the one I hummed.
"Did not know you could sing." I muttered shyly when he finished.
"I would not call it 'singing'." He sighed. "Just a little rhyme from when I was a child."
We fell into a comfortable silence. Our fingers working away at our task.
The dogs came and went a few times, checking on us or seeing if we were done and ready to start on dinner, I was not sure.
"When you are healed," Beorn began, his thumb working its way into a shell, "what will you do?"
My hands paused.
A feeling of dread grips my heart.
"I - nowhere - have not..." I trail off, my stitching becoming ununiformed.
Did he not want me here?
Was I a burden?
"I did not mean to upset you." Beorn quickly said, turning with his large hands raised. "I just," wiping his forehead on his sleeve his eyes wondered to his dogs playing in the grass, "you are welcomed to stay. That is what I was leading up to. Sorry. Did not come out right."
I smiled at his low, embarrassed, grumble. I blinked back the moisture.
"Can I?" His eyes shooting to mine but mine dropped back to my work. His hands paused, eyes looking me over thoughtfully.
"If that is what you wish." He said slowly. Giving one of the dogs, I could not see, a sideways look at their wine. Grumbling something about it being my choice. As if the dog did not like that, he gave me the option, but my heart thudded at his thoughtfulness.
"I like helping." I whispered. Fingers smoothing over the stitches I was able to get back in formation. "I - actually - want to help more. If you are willing that is. I do not wish to be a burden."
"You are more than welcomed to help as much as you want." He went back to his bucket. "As long as you are healed."
The last part he said firmly, as if there was no room for arguing with him on this topic.
What if I never remember who I am. Where I came from. What if I did not have a home.
Would he be alright if I stayed? Could I make a life here?
"You can stay as long as you want." He mumbled, answering my next question.
We worked in silence. Our hands working despite our minds being elsewhere.
"I - I think my other home - I might have done some sewing." I whispered.
"You remember something?" My heart clinched at the hopefulness in his voice.
"Not really - no images but I can FEEL this." Running my fingers over the stitches again. "This FEELING feels familiar. The thread. Holding the fabric like this to run the needle through. It FEELS familiar."
"It is a start." He smiled, encouragement shining in his eyes.
My face flushed. My needle a little off its mark the next few pokes.
We probably would have continued in comfortable silence if my stomach did not growl loudly.
Beorn regarded my red face with a crooked smile, his hand held out to me.
"Try some." I glanced at him then took the couple peas in his palm.
This may have been the first time I ate them raw.
I had them the other night, cooked, with spices. But having them raw was a - different - experience.
Not one I particularly liked.
But at least I tried it.
Beorn smiled at my reaction, popping a few into his own mouth before standing. Hoisting the finished basket up into his arms to take inside.
He was not an angry sort of man. But he hardly ever smiled.
Serious, determined, thoughtful were more like it.
But not angry.
Never angry.
That comforted me.
I felt like he was smiling more and more frequently this past week or so.
His smile did strange things to my stomach.
{ - }
My hand fist in his shirt, a quiet groan escaping my lips.
"I am sorry." Beorn mumbles, moving on to the next stitch.
"It-alright. Just," I flinch, biting down on my lip, "uncomfortable."
He nods but his full attention is on my leg. He had already snipped down the center of the stiches and was now pulling out each one with as much care as his large hands are capable of.
"Once they are out, I will wrap them at least once more, but you will need to sit still for at least a few hours." I nodded, gathering more of his shirt in my hand.
Asbjorn whines on the floor. His eyes fixed on my face while his brothers have their full attention on Beorns hands. Folke and Edvard join in until the room is filled with their wines. Beorn pauses his work to fix his attention on them.
"Go check on the chickens." He said softly, yet firmly. Asbjorn jumped up immediately, pausing to give my hand gripping the sheets a nuzzle, heading out the door. Gjurd and Edvard soon joined him but Folke had to be given a hard-pointed look from Beorn before he too left.
"You have only been here a few weeks and they already treat you as if you are one of them." He mused, trying to draw my attention from his hands going back to work.
"I am glad for their concern." I mumble, my other hand going to his shirt sleeve as well.
"The tea should be kicking in at any moment", he assured me, "do you want me to wait?"
His hands paused, one gripping the underside of my thigh, tucking it against his lap, while the other held a metal pinching device to grasp the small threads.
"Please." I gasped, wiping away a tear.
"I am sorry," he mumbles again, finger gently tracing around the wound, "if we wait any longer to pull them out, your skin will grow around them."
"I understand." I mumbled, releasing his shirt to lean back on the bed, shifting my weight to better accommodate our position. Beorn sat with his legs hanging off the edge. The height of the bed just high enough to keep his thighs level as he stretches mine over his. The one he currently works on tucked securely against his flat stomach. The muscles clinching under the thin shirt every time I wince.
My dress, hiked high to show the highest wound on my thigh, was tucked firmly between my legs to give me some form of privacy despite Beorn having a full view almost to where the leg met the hip.
The worst of the healing was done, Beorn assured me, leaving a discolored jagged line. If there was not a lot of redness and puss, we were good to take the stitches out. I was relieved the healing was going well. I just was not ready for this part.
Beorn gave me a tea he made from a root he says is supposed to help with pain. Well, it was taking its precious time to work.
"Tell me," I swallowed, "tell me about your family." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. In the few weeks I have been here he, not even once, mentioned his family. I assumed it was painful for him and never asked.
I quickly tried to backtrack with other, safer, topics to discuss when he stiffened but he released a long breath. His hand making long strokes from my ankle to my thigh and back.
"They are gone. All of them. Long time agon." And that was all he would say.
I bit my lip, raking my brain for something else, something lighter, to talk about.
"What do you plan to cook for tomorrow." Dinner for tonight was already stewing on the fire in a large pot. Vegetable concoction with a strawberry pie waiting on the counter for the right time to put it in to bake. Tonight's meal would be delicious.
But I suddenly wanted to know what the meals would be for tomorrow.
"Well," being careful not to poke himself with the metal pinchers when he scratched at his beard, "the squash came in."
His beard is shorter.
And his hair.
When did he trim them?
"Maybe a squash fry with fresh bread and peach cobbler."
"What is, um, squash?"
"The yellow vegetable with prickly hairs and a crooked neck." He demonstrated the shape of the neck with the cupping of his fingers and rounding of his wrists. "It is somewhat plain if eaten on its own, but with spices it is tasty. And can be put in bread."
His eyes going back to the stitches on my leg and I tensed up.
"Or," his eyes meeting mine while his hand tried to smooth out the tension in my thighs, "I could make a squash bread. Maybe that would be a good breakfast for tomorrow if I can bake it before bed tonight."
I nodded, fingers tracing a wrinkle in the sheets.
"Can - um - show me how?" His eyes crinkled in the corners with a slow smile. It was small, but it made my heart jerk at the surprise and - was it happiness - shining in his eyes.
"We also need to put some away for winter." His eyes going back to the ugly black stitches. "We only have a few more months until the winds come."
"Where - ah - I feel... funny."
My skin was... tingling? Like all the little hairs along my skin all decided to suddenly stand at attention. And it was hot. So warm in here.
"It must be the root." His soft eyes meeting mine.
"My toes..." Glancing at them, still wrapped in bandages, as if I could physically see the numbness trickling up my ankles.
"It will numb your limbs for a few hours. You can still use them, just may not be able to feel everything."
"It - strange." I lifted my hand, scrutinizing their tips even after I pinched one to make sure they were still there.
"May I proceed?"
I nodded, what he was going to do crashing back on me. My breath coming in small gasps.
I grabbed his sleeve with both hands, the feeling nothing but a soft pressure.
I felt his hand tighten on my thigh, the touch sending ripples of... something... up my leg even as the numbness settled in.
"My legs feel - it is weird." I confessed, fisting his shirt tighter as the feeling spread down my arms.
"If it is alright, I will start again." He met my eyes, hand raised in waiting. I nodded, taking a deep breath to try and calm this feeling building in my stomach.
I felt tugging. Maybe a poke. But no pain.
I looked down to make sure he was pulling them out, and he was. Carefully, grasping the ends and, with a gentle flick of his wrists, pulled them out.
He went to my arm next. Tugging away at the stitches just above my elbow and, despite my hard grip on his sleeve, made quick work of them.
It was getting hot in here.
"I am going to shift you to the other side." I nodded as his large hands slipped under my arms, grazing the sides of my breast and sending a zap of... I had no idea what it was.
I gasped.
He paused halfway shifting me to his other side. Sitting me on his lap he leaned be against his chest and to the side to see my face.
"Are you-what is wrong?" My breaths were short and choppy.
"Hot." I groaned, pulling at my dress.
"Stop." His hand gently grabbing my wrist to secure them in my lap. He then made quick work of the stitches on my other leg and moved to my arm.
A little rougher than before with his quickness.
Why did my skin feel like feathers brushing over it?
My fingers found themselves fisted in the front of his shirt.
Then they were in his beard.
His head jerked away, startled eyes landing on me.
"I reeeeally caaaaannot feel anythinggggg." I said curiously.
"I am sorry," he groaned in pain when I shifted on his lap to reach his thick locks, "I did not know this could be a side effect."
Know what?
He told me when I took the tea it would numb my limbs. What is he apologizing for?
My arm was next, then his large fingers grasped my chin to tilt my face to the side. Tucking my head into his shoulder he went to work on the stitches along my scalp.
I shifted my head when his beard tickled my nose, grazing its tip along his neck.
His hands stilled, the one holding me at the base of my neck tightening.
"Do not move."
Was he in pain?
Or was he scared my movements would hinder his work or make my wound worse?
Either way, I held as still as I could despite his hair tickling.
"What is happening?" I gasped when something pulsed through me.
"I am almost done." He rumbled. His hand tightening even further on my neck.
With one last groan Beorn lifted me under the arms and deposited me quickly on the bed. It was not rough, but not gentle in his haste, when he pulled the covers down and tucked me underneath.
"I will bring your dinner." He rumbled, not making eye contact with me.
And he was gone.
My whole body tingled on the edge of the numbness. And heat. The heat was almost overpowering.
I pulled at the laces at my throat. Pulled as tight as possible to keep the overly large shirt, turned night gown, on my frame.
The door, left wide open, allowed for the dogs to file into each take their turn checking on my wellbeing. Asbjorn the first to prod my hand with his nose. A soft wine echoed by the others bubbled up.
"I am allllright... I guess." I rubbed at my arms. The numbness almost to my shoulders.
"Stop." Beorn blurted, setting the tray of food heavily on the dresser caused everyone in the room to jump. Even the dogs whirled around in surprise like they did not hear him coming. He took long steps to my side. The dogs scattering at his approach only to file in behind him when he crouched at my side.
"Do not move." He grumbled something else under his breath. Quickly pulling down the covers, eyes scanned over my legs. Then reached to the foot of the bed to deposit the pile of bandages at my hip.
"I am sorry." He said stiffly. "I forgot - we need to bandage these." He quickly went to work. His fingers spreading a minimal amount of salve before grasping my knee and lifting it to allow the tight winding of the cloth. I did not feel it. At least not the cloth, but the heat from his hands, that I felt.
His hands softened, slowing, at each wrap around my limb. His movements less stiff as the bandages wound down my thighs to my knees.
Then his eyes wondered up to my lacings. Thrown so far open one side hung dangerously low on one shoulder. His eyes jerked back to his work.
"Thank you." I mumbled, his eyes going to mine. "I have caused you so much trouble and you have been nothing but kind to me."
"You are welcome." He said quickly. His eyes going back to his work. He did not wrap my head but made a point to secure the other wounds before going back to the tray of food.
It took me two attempts to sit up on the bed, my arms fully numb by this point.
Gently setting the wooden tray, really it was his cutting board, on my lap he removed the cloth to reveal a bowl of soup, a slice of bread, and a slice of strawberry pie.
I grasped the spoon.
It slipped from my fingers.
I tried again.
They would not work like I was telling them.
My head jerked at the scraping of the chair being pulled closer to the bed. Beorn sat himself down with a sigh and reached for the spoon. Slowly he dipped it into the soup and held it to my lips.
Embarrassment flooded my face.
I thought about telling him it was alright, that I would just wait until the tea wore off, but then my stomach made itself known with a loud rumble.
His smile was back, waiting patiently for me to decide.
I opened my mouth slowly, even my lips barely feeling the spoon as it scraped along the bottom.
"How long?" I asked once I swallowed. The soup was of course delicious. Spiced vegetables with just the right ratio of chunks and broth.
"Few hours." He mumbled, opting for a slice of bread dipped in the brother this time. I ate it from his fingers, his jerking away when my lips grazed. I still could not feel it, just a pressure.
It was the strangest feeling.
At least in this life.
He continues to feed me.
"Yours is in there." Beorn finally grumbled to the wining piles of fur on the floor. The dogs jumped up at that, nearly knocking each other over getting out of the room.
I giggled.
A little louder than I usually would have.
"Are you not hungry?" I asked him. My words a little slurred.
"I will eat when you are finished." Offering me another slice of bread dipped in brother, this time on the spoon.
"How - "
"Eat." Beorn insisted, the spoon waiting at my lips. His eyes focused only on his hand, waiting.
Eating was a silent affair after that.
{ - }
I am jerked awake.
When did I fall asleep?
I look around. Noticing the chair is back in the corner and Beorn is nowhere to be seen. The room is also dark.
A single slither of light coming from the door.
I jump when a roar sounds outside.
The beast!
I burrow under the covers.
Heart pounding.
It sounded again and I am tumbling out of the bed onto the hard floor.
Scrambling under the bed. Curing up in a ball despite my wounds protesting their treatment.
It came back. Did it come back for me? Did it know I was here? Will it break in?
My head jerks up, a strangled scream caught in my throat, when a wet nose nudges my ankle.
Asbjorn.
I scrambled out from under the bed and grip him around his neck. Noticing the softness of his fur against my fingers.
My feeling of touch was back.
Clutching harder when I hear the beast. Further away but just as terrifying.
"Where is Beorn?" I choked. Not caring the tears rolling down my face.
Edvard nudges my side. I peak around Asbjorns fur in time to see Edvard jump onto the bed, pulling the covers further back, indicating he wants me in the bed.
Reluctantly, I let go of Asbjorn and crawl under the blanket. Both dogs help in pulling the covering over me then settling down. Edvard at the food of the bed while Asbjorn settles himself on the floor within my reach.
Where was Beorn?
Was he fighting the beast?
Leading him away from the house?
The dog's presence was comforting. But I wish for Beorn strong arms and calming presence.
I wish he was here.