ZIIO

Two weeks went on by.

My wounds were now completely closed, and had begun to lose their blood-red complexion. On my head and neck, the blisters were settling down; it was enough for my bandage to be removed. That in itself was a relief. My arms and legs regained some of their strength; I could now kneel up with no problems. However, standing up was still beyond my horizon of recovery. That was a shame.

Rose and Henry had their day off on a Sunday. The house was always much quieter without them; Rose would often sit and talk while treating me. I gave her advice (as advising seemed to be my role in this house) about her soon-to-be lover and – at the end of the week – she announced that she was meeting him on Sunday. That was a wonderful day. She held on to my every word of advice; I even showed her a Mohawk method of braiding her hair for the day. Sadly, Henry decided to enter at this point, and he stared at Rose as if to say: 'Should you really be doing that?'

That Sunday, I was slightly lonely. Not to a great extent, of course: Haytham was there, too. He even refrained from attending a weekly religious service at 'the church' as not to leave me alone. For that I was grateful, but I spent a lot of time wondering about Rose and how she was getting on.

The next morning, it was her who delivered a tray of breakfast, with a smile like tiny child across her face. She hurried – not waddled – into the room and slapped the tray carelessly down.

"So, how was yesterday?" I asked, aware that her grin was infectious.

"It was wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Ziio, every little thing that you told me to do...it worked! François himself commented on how much more confident I was."

"What did I tell you?" I shook my head playfully.

"And look!" Rose's eyes sparkled with excitement; she reached behind her black work dress and pulled something from around her neck. It was a beautiful gold chain, on the end of which was a bright blue stone in a golden frame. It glittered at me like the passion in Rose's eyes. "He rose from the dinner table, pulled this from his pocket and placed it around my neck."

"It's beautiful."

"I know!" She sighed with a happiness beyond words. "And I owe it all to you, Ziio. It was you who made yesterday so special for François and I. Thank you." With that, Rose reached across the bed and hugged me. It was fleeting, but full of meaning. I felt an unstoppable smile spreading quickly on my face. It was official: I had made a true companion here.

Haytham's impatient voice called from downstairs. Rose sprung to her feet and dashed after him, mouthing: 'Thank you' as she left.

My breakfast was more delicious than ever.

Later on, Haytham paid me a short visit (he had been "ridiculously busy" all morning). He came in at midday to deliver some bad news.

"The doctor is here," he murmured.

"D-doctor? What doctor?"

His face looked nervous, like a cowering mouse. "When you were still unconscious, I called for a doctor to examine you. He gave me a sort of...diagnosis and offered to take you to the hospital to be healed."

"What is a hospital?" I asked, not knowing what to say first.

"A place which I would never dream of sending you," he replied quietly. "That is not the point. He is here again to check up on you; see if I am healing you properly, or..."

"Or...?"

Haytham gulped, before bending and whispering in my ear: "Or he will transfer you...to the hospital."

I was not sure how to respond to that. Why did he look so terrified? He and his staff had treated my wounds better than anyone in my tribe could! Why was this 'doctor' fellow anything to fret over?

"Wh-what do you mean...transfer me?" I bit my lip, my fear rising slightly.

Just as Haytham opened his mouth, a voice interrupted him: "Is the patient up here?"

We both swivelled. Haytham placed a protective hand on my shoulder, which momentarily numbed the panic. He wouldn't let anything happen to me...would he? What would happen if I was sent to hospital?

"He's coming," Haytham hissed.

"Yes, the woman is here. The second door on the right." Henry's voice sounded from beyond the corridor.

There came no response from the deep, droning stranger. How rude. No thank-you, or any acknowledgement to Henry.

I gripped Haytham's arm and gently pulled it off my shoulder. "I will be fine," I whispered. "Have faith."

"Am I intruding this intimacy?"

We turned in surprise again. The voice had come from a tall, surly old man; his cheekbones looked like he was sucking nettles. His eyes were blue, but a dark and clouded kind. His suit spoke of his importance in society: it was preened to perfection. He eyed us for a long time. I then realised that I still had Haytham's hand in my firm grasp. I let go reluctantly.

"Not at all," I said coldly.

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. "Ah, the patient speaks English."

"You seem surprised, doctor." Haytham stood up to his full height, hands behind his back diligently.

The man simply pushed past him and knelt to my height. His eyes iced over and narrowed to slits. It was uncomfortable having a stranger this close to me...particularly this stranger. I held his gaze carefully; the expression on his face went from sour to searching.

"Do you understand me?" He spoke slowly; patronisingly.

"Yes," I hissed back. I glared at Haytham as if to say: Why on earth did you invite this man inside? Haytham bit his lip in response. It was clear that he was glad not to be in my position.

"You may leave," the doctor indicated the door, "if you will, sir."

"No," Haytham replied. "I shall be staying. I want to hear the verdict."

The two men eyed each other with mild dislike, before the doctor turned to me again. With no warning, he tugged the sheets off my bed and began his inspection. What a humiliating process that was. I remember gritting my teeth in irritation and discomfort. His hands were dry and cold, like soil in the summer. He prodded my blisters with no intentions to be gentle. This uncomfortable procedure lasted several minutes (though it felt elongated to me). Finally, the man looked up from his work and spoke - to my immense annoyance- to Haytham. Not me.

"The patient is showing clear signs of improvement," he droned. "The ointment that I prescribed is working well. How many times a day are you applying it to the sores?"

"Two."

"Marvellous," he said, without a hint of marvel. "Should the treatment of the girl continue this way, she will be able to support her own weight within a week."

It took me a while to figure out what he meant. "You mean," I gasped in disbelief, "I will be able to walk?"

He turned to me reluctantly. "Possibly. If you choose to do so, do not tire yourself out. The blisters are still extremely tender and inward pressure would do them no good."

Yes! I thought. I will be able to move from this bed! Of course I appreciated the care I was receiving, but two weeks in the exact same place was enough to bore anyone to insanity.

"In the meantime..." The doctor's voice made me look up (to see that he'd turned to Haytham), "the patient needs good rest. If luck is upon you, the burns may withstand pressure within a few days. I also recommend a lukewarm bath as soon as she can stand."

"That can be arranged," Haytham grunted.

The old man picked up his case and ambled to the door. "I shall meet you downstairs to discuss my charges."

I watched intently until he was out of our sight. When I could no hear his footsteps, I spoke.

"You see? I told you that I would be fine!"

Haytham pivoted on the spot. His face was washed over with relief. "Thank god," he sighed. "I was worried that we hadn't been caring for you properly."

"You have. He thinks so." I indicated the door.

"Heavens, that man boils my blood."

"Why?" I asked. "I know he was far from pleasant...but he was helping, was he not?"

"He wasn't when he saw to you unconscious," he muttered through gritted teeth. "He was extremely reluctant to tell me anything in the slightest helpful and he made it known that he was dissatisfied treating you."

"Why?"

"Who knows? Perhaps because you are Mohawk."

I gave a snort, disgusted. "What else could you expect from his prudishness?"

Haytham shrugged. "I shall see to him now."

As he left, I couldn't help but be filled with excitement. I could walk! I could explore the rest of Haytham's house; earn my strength at running outside. I could feel at home again. Maybe, if I continued to improve, I could go home. Home to my son and home to my village. I could help repair the damage done by the wretched Templars. I could hunt and cook; taste the fruits of the forest; sit by the crackling fire with friends. I could tell them about my rescue...and that Haytham was no threat. They might even let him visit. He could meet his son properly.

It was all a fantasy, of course. But it was a fantasy that I was one step closer to.

Hey! I hope you had a great Christmas, everybody! All these festivities have kept me busy so here is a pretty rushed update. I know it's not that exciting, but hey! Maybe Ziio will be up and running soon. See you then! :)