Chapter Text
Torinn's expression was guarded when he unlatched the door, and his earfrills pinched still tighter when he caught sight of Fel, sitting up in the makeshift bed. Fel didn't think he was angry at him, specifically - but he groped for anything that might cheer him up regardless.
"... What does 'Sang Anna' mean?"
Eyes widened, showing even more of the deep-teal iris, before Torinn's jaw dropped in a silent laugh. "Those oversized ears - they're good for somethin', aren't they? It's 'ssang ahnah, and you shouldn't be saying something like that in front of your elders."
Leaning forward, wincing a little at the tight pull beneath the bandages, Fel shoved one of the blankets away. "But you did. What does it mean?"
"Fel. Lad. If you want to learn Draco' then I'll teach you. But I won't start with teaching you to swear." He shrugged. "You'll have to learn to say please and thank you first."
A short while later - too short, as far as Fel's eagerness to learn was concerned - Torinn looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, then craned his neck to peer through one of the wagon's windows. "Looks like the deadfall's cleared. They're getting ready to move the wagons, and I'll be needed up front." He gestured vaguely towards Fel's lap. "Need help with the bisskadi before I go?"
Fel shook his head. "I can get the..." A quick mental translation, before he continued... "...shit-in?... myself if I need it."
"Good. The stick's here if you feel up to trying to stand today." Torinn tapped the short cane, tucked behind the folded-blanket pillow. "Should try - if you can make it up front to sit with me, I'll teach you how to say anything you see." He turned, using his tail to pull a drawer open, then lifted a bundle of cloth out of it, placing it next to Fel on the table. "It's not warm enough to sit out there in your skivvies, though. Put this on if you do come join me."
He waited until Torinn had vanished behind the thin oak-planked wall from which the table emerged, before sitting up straighter in the nest of blankets. I do want to learn more - and see ... what's going on. He said there were wagons, so it's not just this one - are Torinn and Merryshoulders traders? He considered this, looking around the wagon. It was a living space, and certainly didn't seem to be filled with trade goods. Unless they were staying somewhere else while he was their little house guest, it also didn't seem like anyone lived in this wagon with Torinn.
He twisted to swing his good leg over the edge of the table, then groped with one hand under the pillow. When his fingers caught on the strip of leather, he dragged his pouch out from beneath the covers and settled the thong around his neck. Once the comforting weight of the glass phial was in place, he leaned further over the pillow, grabbing the stick. He'd used it before, to help himself balance for using the ... he turned the new word over his tongue... bisskadi ... but he hadn't yet tried putting any weight on the leg that was still swaddled in bandages. With one hand wrapped around the smooth grip of the walking stick, he shuffled the other leg, carefully, to dangle over the edge alongside his good one.
The low ache sharpened at the jerk of the wagon starting forward, thumping the back of his knee against the edge of the table. He had a moment to wish Torinn had taught him a few more of the choicer words at the twinges that ran down the back of his calf, before the ache settled back into something easier to ignore. Still cautious, he settled the end of the stick against the bench, a convenient step, and slid down off the table to balance on one foot.
So far, so good... he considered the step down to the juddering floorboards. Before stepping down from the bench, he turned to balance against the table. With a few hops as he avoided putting weight on his foot, he rearranged the blankets into a neat, smooth pallet, and lifted the cloth that Torinn had left for him. He unfolded the bundle to find a nearly-sleeveless tunic in a faded colour that might once have been turquoise, but was now closer to a pale blue-grey, and long enough that it'd hang well past his knees, along with a strip of fabric that might once have been a handkerchief or a short scarf.
The cloth was soft, well-worn, and despite the arm holes stretching halfway down his ribs, certainly did take some of the chill out of the day. Tying the scarf around his waist as a makeshift belt to hold the tunic together, he caught sight of himself in the reflection from the back of a copper pan. Better than going out in my breeks, he thought, but I don't want to step on it and trip myself up.
He was stalling, and he knew it. It was easy enough to balance on his good leg if all he needed to do was use the chamberpot, but this was more than just a balancing act. Closing his eyes, he eased his other foot down, wincing as the ache sharpened proportionately to the weight he was settling on it.
That... could have been worse.
He kept his grip on the edge of the table as he looked down to the floor. Rather more than a comfortable step down on his own. That settled it, and he awkwardly lowered himself to sit on the bench before slithering down to the floor, good foot first. Another tentative press of his injured foot to the floor, and then he straightened the tunic. Presentable at last, he made his slow, three-legged way across the floorboards, nearly stumbling once as the wagon thumped over a stick in the road, and to the door Torinn had vanished through.
Within the front compartment, a couple of short steps led up to a raised pallet not dissimilar to the one he had just straightened, tidily folded blankets padding the wood. Above his head, out of his reach, cabinets built into the walls of the wagon were held closed with lengths of cord or latches of carven bone. On the far wall, a sliding panel showed a thin slice of sky and the surrounding woods. Fel looked over the steps, then slid the walking stick up onto the bed. He followed it, with an ungainly scramble on three good limbs and a hissed exclamation of pain that might have started with 'bisska' as the top of his bad foot scraped over the edge of the bottom step.
The door slid open wider, and Torinn peered through. He grinned, gesturing to Fel, encouraging him to clamber across the bed and out to join him.