The girl appeared to be panicking. Her limbs were trembling, and her
golden eyes were wide with fear. She yelled out a word that Poppy couldn't
understand the meaning of, but she understood the urgency behing it.
"Lendie!" They took off at a run. Poopy would not have been able to keep up
at all if the girl hadn't been in such a state of total exhaustion. Poppy
noticed that the girl, even though tired, ran with a gracefulness that none
of the humans she had been raised around could match. She also noticed that
the girl looked...well, different. But she was so filthy, and her clothes
were so tattered that anyone would have mistaken her for a beggar.
They were soon within the gates of the town, and Poppy told the
gatekeeper to shut them quickly. She did not know who the riders were
behind them, but she knew from the terror in the stranger's eyes that they
could not be good. Once safe, the girl collapsed once more, and this time
she didn't move at all, just lay there gasping, limbs trembling. Poppy
asked the gatekeeper to watch her, though the girl seemed to have passed
out by now, so it didn't make much difference. The gatekeeper agreed
reluctantly, but stayed a fair way away from the girl.
Poppy was soon back with Barliaman Butterbur, innkeeper at the
Prancing Pony, and a considerable crowd following behind. As they
approached the girl, who was now lying on her side on the hard
cobblestones, Poppy was explaining everything that had happened. Butterbur
paused and asked, "And what do ye expect me to do about this? I know
nothin' of healing, and ye tell me this girl is hurt."
There was some commotion among the crowd as a tall dark man pushed
his way through to the front. "I could not help overhearing your remark,
Butterbur."
"Ah, Strider," Butterbur noted suspiciously. "And do ye wish to do
something about it?"
"Yes, if you will allow me to. I am not without skill as a healer,
and this.girl.is badly injured. Would it be possible to bring her to your
inn?" He bent over to peer at the still form, and seemed to nod to himself.
"I.all right," Butterbur answered hesitantly.
Strider said nothing, just bent over and gently lifted the girl. As
he walked toward the inn, the rest of the crowd dispersed to gossip about
the incident and speculate as to who this stranger was. The gatekeeper
forgot about his post and went to gossip with the others. No one noticed
when two harsh, evil-looking men rode up and pounded on the gate, and then
rode away disgusted when nobody answered.
* * *
Once at the inn, Strider had Poppy, who had been following him, clear off a table in an empty room. He set the girl on it carefully, face down. Her breathing had slowed to an almost normal pace, and he took that as a good sign. He slowly, gently began to remove the outer tunic, sometimes cutting it with a small sharp knife he pulled from his belt. Butterbur was standing in the room, watching, but he gasped and turned away when he saw how much blood was really on the girl's back. Her under tunic was totally red and shiny from the blood, where before it had been white, as they could tell from a few patches that blood had not soaked. Even Strider seemed a little worried. "Butterbur," he said, "get me a bowl of warm water and a clean rag." Butterbur hurried to do Strider's bidding, anxious to get away from such a gruesome sight. When he got back a few minutes later, Strider had slit the shirt down the back, and was pulling it away to the sides. It stuck to drying blood but he finally got it peeled back. He had to sit there for nearly a whole minute when he saw what had happened. The girl's back was an absolute mess. Much of the skin was gone, and what was left was shredded. The wounds had almost stopped bleeding, but that just made the sight that much worse. Every time she breathed, a little more blood would come to the surface. Finally, Strider recovered himself and began to sponge away the clotting blood. The girl cried out at first, and then whimpered every time he touched her back with the rag. But many anxious minutes later, the blood was almost all gone, and they could truly see the extent of the damage that had happened. The bleeding had now stopped, but there was exposed muscle that was even worse to look at. Strider took some long rolls of cloth out of his pack, and proceeded to wrap the girl with them. Finally, she was bandaged. He gently turned her over and asked Barliaman for a clean rag. The old innkeeper complied hastily. Strider wet it with what was left of the water and used it to wipe off the girl's face. She seemed to flinch away from his touch at first, but gradually relaxed. Her eyes were still closed. When he was finished with her face, all three of them were astounded at the change. Her skin was smooth and clear. Her face was like, and yet unlike, any human face. "Why, she looks like a.a." "An elf, Master Butterbur," Strider finished for him. "But.but they have not been seen in these parts for a hundred years! They are. or were. no more than a legend." "Yes, and what is legend but history that has been forgotten?"
* * *
Once at the inn, Strider had Poppy, who had been following him, clear off a table in an empty room. He set the girl on it carefully, face down. Her breathing had slowed to an almost normal pace, and he took that as a good sign. He slowly, gently began to remove the outer tunic, sometimes cutting it with a small sharp knife he pulled from his belt. Butterbur was standing in the room, watching, but he gasped and turned away when he saw how much blood was really on the girl's back. Her under tunic was totally red and shiny from the blood, where before it had been white, as they could tell from a few patches that blood had not soaked. Even Strider seemed a little worried. "Butterbur," he said, "get me a bowl of warm water and a clean rag." Butterbur hurried to do Strider's bidding, anxious to get away from such a gruesome sight. When he got back a few minutes later, Strider had slit the shirt down the back, and was pulling it away to the sides. It stuck to drying blood but he finally got it peeled back. He had to sit there for nearly a whole minute when he saw what had happened. The girl's back was an absolute mess. Much of the skin was gone, and what was left was shredded. The wounds had almost stopped bleeding, but that just made the sight that much worse. Every time she breathed, a little more blood would come to the surface. Finally, Strider recovered himself and began to sponge away the clotting blood. The girl cried out at first, and then whimpered every time he touched her back with the rag. But many anxious minutes later, the blood was almost all gone, and they could truly see the extent of the damage that had happened. The bleeding had now stopped, but there was exposed muscle that was even worse to look at. Strider took some long rolls of cloth out of his pack, and proceeded to wrap the girl with them. Finally, she was bandaged. He gently turned her over and asked Barliaman for a clean rag. The old innkeeper complied hastily. Strider wet it with what was left of the water and used it to wipe off the girl's face. She seemed to flinch away from his touch at first, but gradually relaxed. Her eyes were still closed. When he was finished with her face, all three of them were astounded at the change. Her skin was smooth and clear. Her face was like, and yet unlike, any human face. "Why, she looks like a.a." "An elf, Master Butterbur," Strider finished for him. "But.but they have not been seen in these parts for a hundred years! They are. or were. no more than a legend." "Yes, and what is legend but history that has been forgotten?"