Disclaimer: BBC's Merlin does not belong to me in any way, shape or form.
Her ears swiveled back and forth more agitatedly as the sounds of crackling flame and desperate shouting drew ever nearer. The screaming of the trees could be heard in almost deafening volumes, causing shudder after shudder to wrack her long frame. The hand that had been pressing down gently on her shoulder suddenly left and went back to rest on one of the twisted and gnarled branches that form the arm of the throne. No sooner was the hand removed than all the muscles tightened in her form and she sprang to her feet, hitting the ground at a run, the branches of trees seeming to reach out as though to grab her, pleading with her to save them from their inevitable death by fire. She swallowed heavily, worrying her bottom lip and breaking the skin quickly, continuing on reluctantly as she ignored the silent pleas of the forest around her. The large cloven hooves embedded themselves deeply in the earth as she headed into the thick of the smoke. An ear flicked towards a loud sound, the sound of water, the sound of hissing steam as fire is extinguished. She halted immediately, her form tense as she turned to look towards the source of the noise, minute tremors running down her body. Her eyes strained to see through the thick clouds of smog, several bodies moving and stirring the smoke as they frantically worked to extinguish the flames. Her eyes roved over the small group, running along the long line of villagers passing buckets along to the group before her gaze again returned to the group. It rested for a moment on the man who seems to be the obvious leader, garbed in a faded red shirt and dark trousers, his square jaw framed by golden hair made greasy by the smoke and heat. She stared for a few seconds, her gaze hard as she watched him bark orders through the fuzzy layer of smoke and throwing bucket after bucketful of water into the steadily decreasing wall of flames. His head started to swivel in her direction, his eyes widening as he caught sight of her for a brief moment before her legs spring into action, bounding quickly away from the group through the smoke, blackened trees and plant life lining her path.
She leapt over trees that have fallen and rotted as she made her way through the veil of smoke, unmindful of her surroundings as the haze clouded her senses, swirling around her. She continued on her way, moving skillfully through the trees without a sound. The crack that was heard next as she tripped over something unexpected was deafening, her hoof landing on something that was not soft like the earth. She threw out her hands in front of herself to break her fall, her entire front covered in a thin sheet of dirt as she pushed herself up again. She pulled her legs in towards herself, her gaze sweeping the floor to find what she had tripped over. She saw the prone figure of a young man with dark hair lying face down in the dirt, his right arm at an awkward angle. Her eyes lingered on the arm, widening slightly before darting back to watch the figure carefully. She let out a sigh of relief as his torso expanded and deflated with steady breathing. She moved closer on her knees, cautiously rolling him over. His breathing caught in his throat with a weak, throaty whimper as his arm was jostled slightly. She bit her lip gently, worrying it between her teeth for several moments. Her brow furrowed slightly before she pushed herself back onto her feet, venturing back the way she came more calmly and searching for various objects on the forest floor. She returned several minutes later with a few straight and sturdy branches and several soaked sheets of birch bark. She seated herself silently next to the young man, her eyes tracing his features for a moment as they twisted in pain and discomfort. Carefully, she lifted the limp arm and stretched it out, watching his face still with some worry evident on her own features. Her dexterous fingers moved with slight hesitation, gently coaxing the splintered bone back into a straight line, her ears flattening slightly as the man lets out a faint murmur of pain, his other fist clenching unconsciously in the thin fabric of his shirt. She kept hold of his forearm in one hand while reaching out to grasp the four sturdy looking sticks in her other hand, bringing them to lay on her lap. Moving them carefully as she aligned them up and down his forearm, a faint whisper of words escaped her lips, her black eyes glowing a vivid green.
"Beorcholt bewinde hrísl..."
Her voice was soft but certain as she spoke strange words of power and the sticks seemed to twist themselves around the injured forearm, locking themselves into place as they entwined themselves around each other like snakes. Taking the sheets of birch bark into her hands, she carefully wrapped them around the wooden splinting one at a time, being careful not to jostle the arm more than necessary. Once finished, she spoke again, her voice still soft as her eyes again flashed a grassy hue.
"Ádrúwe borcian..."
Her hand resting on the wet bark suddenly flexed and the moisture seemed to be sucked out of the bark. Without a word, she flung the excess moisture onto the surrounding ground, the droplets glistening slightly despite the lack of light. She remained silent once more as she lifted the casted arm, examining her handiwork before letting out a satisfied sigh. She lifted the young man into a sitting position before moving over to his other side, reaching down to grasp his forearm before pulling it over her neck and shoulder firmly. She reached down to wrap an arm around his slight frame, lifting him up easily despite her own seemingly fragile frame. Unconscious charge now supported, she moved forward, away from the thick realm of smokiness and towards the clearing just past the trees. She stopped a bit short of it, glancing around quickly, almost nervously, before stepping just outside of the safety of the dark forest. She knelt, quickly working to stretch out his legs before letting his back rest against the rough bark of a strong oak tree. She tenderly reached out to brush his sweaty, slightly greasy hair away from his brow before standing abruptly, turning away from the grassy knoll to head back into the forest. She paused, her thoughts conflicted across her face before she hesitatingly reached out to press her bare palm against the rough bark of the old oak tree. Her words carried the same conviction as they did when she was treating the young man's wound.
"Take care of him, Old One... scilde gebrócod."
The branches of the great tree shuddered and creaked in wordless acceptance of the soft command. Without another glance back, she took off back the way she came, weaving between the trees more slowly and carefully than before as she hurried back to the One she served.
For those of you wondering what the translations are, here is my list:
Beorcholt bewinde hrísl - 'Birch wood encircle shuttle bone of the lower arm'
Ádrúwe borcian - 'Dry bark'
scilde gebrócod - 'shield the injured'
I used the Old English/Modern English translator at ./ for these spells and any others that are used in future chapters, and tried to be as accurate as possible.