Chapter Text
They had to walk for a while in a stream to erase their tracks. It was long and tedious, the water was icy and it was dangerous to stay there for a long time because they risked getting frostbite. Falk had collapsed from exhaustion. It was Attila who carried him, taking care not to worsen the discomfort of his broken wing. A few hours later, they came across an abandoned fishing hut.
"He’s pale,” began Roel who was close to Attila. “He risks developing an infection if we don’t take care of him quickly.”
“Then we’ll have to rest here.”
“Matthew and I will take care of the supplies, we don’t have much left,” announced Charles.
“Then I will gather wood to make a fire and try to find medicinal herbs for Falk.”
“Alright,” Attila replied simply. “I’ll check that the hut is safe.”
Falk, who had woken up, moved and blinked. Then the pack leader stepped inside and placed him against the wall of the room. He said nothing and merely observed the surroundings. It was a single room, some furniture was lying around, but the wood had been eaten away by time. There was a chest, some baskets, all empty, some torn nets, a drying rack, and even a bed, although it was broken. After taking a look at it, Attila thought it wouldn’t be hard to repair, and Falk would need rest to heal.
So he also set to work. He chopped wood to restore the bed, then washed the old torn sheets in the river. They were in bad condition but it was better than nothing. The pack was used to settling for little, they could sleep in a inn just as easily as under the stars on the ground. Roel had returned and lit the fire in the fireplace. He was preparing a remedy in a pot of hot water, mixing some roots and herbs.
Meanwhile, Falk watched, his eyes half-closed, his knees drawn up against his chest. The adrenaline had faded, and the pain from his wing spread across his back. His bare feet were on fire, and the bruises on his arms were beginning to show. He was almost sure he could feel swelling on his right cheekbone.
Roel leaned towards him, a bowl in each hand.
"Listen, I know you're not human, but I know injuries and illnesses, and I'm sure that a wound, feathered or not, is treated the same way. What I am also sure of is that if it gets infected, you’re in serious danger.”
Falk did not answer, just looked at him.
“Anyway. Do you mind?” He set the bowls down to grab some bandages and a basin of hot water. The creature stretched out its wing with difficulty; the second joint bent at an impossible angle, ready to snap at the slightest movement.
“Shit,” muttered the healer.
Attila, not far away, came closer when he heard his friend’s concern. He crouched beside him.
“I am going to need your help, it has to be put back in place.”
Roel handed a thick cloth to Falk: “Bite this.” He did so without question. Only his quick breathing betrayed his fear.
Attila stood behind Falk, firmly holding his shoulder blade and first joint. When the healer gave the signal, he pulled the wing with a sharp jerk and forced it back into place. A raucous scream escaped Falk before he collapsed unconscious.
“It’s not any worse for him,” Roel sighed, “just check that he doesn’t vomit. Hold him while I treat him.”
Attila nodded. He patiently observed his protégé, taking advantage of the moment to do so. He was intrigued by his feathers, they started from his wings, moved up his back to the base of his skull where they mixed with his hair. He was so thin, had he eaten his fill before falling from the skies? How had he even arrived in the northern lands? He had never seen creatures of his kind before.
“Honestly,” Roel interrupted his thoughts, “I don’t think he’ll be able to fly again.”
“Why?”
“It’s the tendons, they are torn. It will take him years to properly move his wing. Even once healed, flying will require an impossible effort.” He cut the thread of his needle, observed his work, then applied the remedy to the wound.
“Then he’s like us,” sighed Attila, “torn from his world, condemned to wander.”
“You saw it coming. That’s why you asked us to save him, like you did with Charles and Matthew for me."
The leader of the pack nodded, a sad smile at the corner of his lips.