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Tawny pulled the red tartan quilt draped over her back tighter around her frame. Despite the healthy fire burning not more than a few feet in front of her, she still shivered, shaking hands struggling to keep their hold on the fabric. Her unwavering, dazed stare shifted from the flames, to the worn wooden coffee table between her and the hearth, to the tasseled corners and yellow-blue-white accent stripes of the quilt, then back again in that order.
From the kitchen behind her came the quiet snap of flowers and leaves being torn their stems, the grinding of a stone mortar and pestle, the crackling of kindling in the stove and the metallic clattering of a kettle. All of the sounds fell muted in their ears, smothered by their own breath and heartbeat.
Slowly, the musk of damp earth, sweat and scorched wood became overpowered by the incense of herbs. The scents of the botanicals Harley had picked to use from her plethora of plant remedies carried familiarity, but Tawny could not give them their names. They sat heavy in the back of her mind like stones in a deep riverbed.
A loud sizzle sliced through the air; the stove fire being doused. Tawny jolted still, her grip on the blanket taut at first, then loosening as she relaxed again. The clink of a ceramic mug being placed upon a countertop and the sloshing of fluid being poured into it on their six sounded clearer, but did not drag her gaze away from the hearth. Even the mug, mortar and pestle, and a first aid kit being placed on the table, the feeling of another body sitting next to her on the weathered sofa, were only seen out of the corner of her eye.
“Tawny, I’ve prepared you tea and medicine,” Harley said quietly, voice rough. At the sound of her name from her sister, Tawny finally averted her eyes from the fireplace. She watched silently as Harley grabbed the mug, wisps of steam rising from its mouth. The skin of her fingers was dappled red and raw. Though they wanted to take it from her, their hands hesitated, fiddling with the tassels on the corners of the quilt.
“..What’s in it?” she rasped, swallowing harshly once the question was out. Talking even so briefly made her throat sting and her head throb. Harley leaned forward in concern, about to speak, but was stopped when Tawny shook her head, stifling a groan and giving them a stony look.
Harley pressed their lips together, returning to their original position. “...Well, the tea is a mix of chamomile, peppermint, and lavender. I also added honey and what sugar I could spare, since I know how much you prefer to take your drinks sweet,” they said, giving a gentle grin and chuckle with the second sentence. She placed her right hand on Tawny’s shoulder softly, taking care not to disturb the wounds that, though concealed, she knew were there and untended to. “And this,” Harley went on, jutting her chin toward the mortar and pestle, containing an earthy green paste of crushed plant parts, “is a poultice of yarrow, turmeric, comfrey, and calendula.”
Tawny’s attention flicked between the mug and the mortar and pestle a few times, then she hummed shortly in understanding. Breathing in the now closer, and thus stronger, aromas of the herbs, their calming effects started to take hold; Her ministrations on the tassels ceased, and she looked back up to meet her sister’s eyes.
Harley raised the mug towards her. “Here, drink,” they murmured, coaxing Tawny to take hold of it herself, easing their fingers away once she did. Wrapping one hand around the handle and clasping the bottom within the other, Tawny raised it to her lips.
The amber liquid was warm, saccharine to her liking with floral notes and a brisk, minty aftertaste. As she swallowed the first sip, the lining of her throat was soothed, and a tranquil tepidness blanketed her brain. She hurriedly drank more after taking a breath, downing just over half of the cup, savoring the taste and relishing the warm relief from exhaustion that settled over her. Returning the cup to the table, she remarked to herself just how much of an adept hand her sister had become at crafting herbal mixtures; several scenes of younger Harleys handing her tea or trying to get her to take a spoonful of elixir replayed in her mind. The corner of her mouth quirked up at the memories.
“Does that feel better?” Harley asked.
Tawny, eyes closed and head tilted down, gave a small nod. She hummed in approval before continuing, “Do you want some water? Anything to eat?”
Tawny thought for a moment or two, then shook their head. They weren’t hungry nor did they feel like they could stomach anything heavier than the tea, which provided ample hydration as it was. Harley hummed a second time. “Okay. Let me see your wounds now.”
Tawny faced them once more. Her shoulders grew rigid and she grasped at the quilt again, tendons and bones protruding under her skin, as she struggled to hold Harley’s gaze. Their forest green eyes were understanding yet commanding; Aunt Millie’s eyes.
She turned back to the fireplace, watching charred bark fall from the logs and reveal the burning underlayers of the wood. A quiet sigh came from her nine, and she felt Harley’s weight shift from the couch to the floor as they took a knee next to her on the thin, weathered rug. They sighed deeper, looking down for a brief moment, then up again.
“You realize I had to practically sedate Colten because as much as he wanted to tend to you, he physically couldn’t in his state,” they said placidly. Tawny flinched, shutting her eyes. Even in the worst of her shock from before, she recalled hearing hushed arguing from the rooms upstairs. The words were unclear, but she did recognize the agitated, straining voice of her sister, and the more furiously agitated muttering and outbursts of her brother. It had stopped after some minutes, and that’s when Harley had come back into the kitchen to prepare more tea and medicine for her.
What they’d given Colt had most certainly contained a great amount of chamomile and lavender in order to put him to sleep. The image of him, beaten and bloody, forced into rest without knowing if she’d be alright, made a lump form in her throat.
“And not only will he be beyond angry with both you and me if he wakes up and you’re still bleeding all over yourself, but so will Koda and Sinclair,” Harley went on, her voice still a biting indifference, relentless stare boring into her sister’s profile like a knife. “You can pretend that you’re fine all you want, but anyone can see otherwise. Especially me, who has bore witness to this all your life.”
Tawny said nothing, fixated on a piece of wood that had split open in the hearth. Its movement stirred the others, widening the fire and sending embers fluttering up the chimney. Her injuries began to ache and sting again; The hastily applied bandages to staunch the bleeding were soaked through, the hits she took to the ribs becoming bruises, the muscles she pulled in her legs continuing to throb. She gazed down her hands where they still clutched the quilt close, and slowly peeled them away. The pale colored stripes that had been in her grasp were now stained with a thin sheen of blood. Tawny looked from the sullied fabric to her palms, smeared with red, and barely managed to keep the tears that welled up from falling.
“...Okay,” they whispered, slipping the blanket from their frame in relent.
Harley made haste to move the quilt behind her, slide the white button up from their shoulders, and crack open the first aid kit. Gently but swiftly, maneuvering around the long twin braids that ran down Tawny’s front, she removed the old bandages, folding them and placing them in the lid of the kit. At each one that came off, Tawny hugged themself tighter.
Once all the scratches and scrapes were exposed, Harley took fresh bandages and gauze from the kit, scooped up some of the poultice on two fingers, and went to work.
Little was exchanged between the two during the tending process; only an occasional 'turn this way' or 'that way', some 'give me your arm' or 'your leg', and 'how does this feel? Does it burn or sting?' from Harley. Tawny would reply with a hum, a nod, or a shake of her head. The poultice felt slightly uncomfortable at first, but after the wound it sat on was wrapped, a steady cool would set in. Lifting her limbs and twisting her torso only hurt in that they were sore. When not in motion, Tawny fidgeted with the ends of her braids, picking out small bits of dried blood and running her fingers along the silk bands that tied them off.
“Alright, it’s done,” Harley said in a low voice, securing the last bandage around her left bicep. Tawny perked up, turning to observe her sister’s damp and bloodied hands close the first aid kit, then gather up the used dresses and mortar and pestle, nearly polished clean from how much poultice was used. She cast her eyes downward, suddenly acutely aware of how much of her skin was covered.
“Damn, you think you used enough bandages?” Tawny asked with a weak chuckle, eyeing Harley over her shoulder as she walked back to the kitchen to put away the supplies.
“You seem surprised, as if you weren’t covered up to your eyes with injuries,” she replied matter of factly over the water running from the faucet. When she came back, she set a basin atop the table and had a rag in hand. “Turn towards me. Your face is filthy,” Harley instructed, flicking her fingers in beckoning.
Tawny opened her mouth to retort but was stopped by the wet cloth wiping across her cheek, a mix of dirt and blood appearing in strong contrast to the white fibers. They chose to stay quiet and stand corrected as Harley continued, taking in the clean feeling that spread over their flesh. Just before she was done, she took hold of Tawny’s nose and gave it a sharp yank.
“Ow-! What the hell was that for?!” she hissed, wrinkling her features and covering her nose in discontent. Harley snickered as they strode back into the kitchen.
“Well, one: because I felt like it,” they said frankly, emptying the basin into the sink and washing the rag under the tap. “And two: for scaring me back there.”
Their voice was buoyant as if they were smiling, but Tawny could see that their shoulders were tense, the movements of scrubbing the cloth harsh and erratic. A twinge of guilt cut through her as she watched Harley roughly dry their hands on their combat trousers, clawing at her as she craned her neck to peer at the staircase, leading up to the rooms where her siblings slept.
“Come on, little soldier, let’s get you to bed so we can both sleep. It must be the early hours by now,” Harley sighed, dragging Tawny’s attention back to her. She rolled her eyes at the nickname, guilt giving way to annoyance, but didn’t say anything as they came back over and gave her a hand. Expecting Harley to let go once Tawny was standing, she grunted in surprise as they slung her right arm over the back of their neck and held her steady at her hip.
“I can walk, Harley, it’s fine. You don’t have to,” she protested.
“And I could not care less. Besides, you need to be careful with poultices applied on injuries. Now move.”
Tawny attempted to formulate a riposte, but the mere thought of retiring to bed and slumber made her vehemently exhausted. Without will or energy to resist, she allowed herself to be guided tentatively up the staircase and down the short hallway. She tried to peek into the other rooms as they passed by, but the doors were shut.
“They’re fine,” Harley said, looking at her through her periphery. “Minor scratches and bruises, other than Colt. He’s stable, though. Snoozing like a dog.” She smirked and continued with a chuckle, “He’ll surely pitch a fit because I snuck lavender extract onto his temples and wrists, but he’ll be thankful for the rest in secret.”
Tawny whipped around to face Harley, stunned. At the sight of the impish glint in her eyes, she couldn’t help but join in on her laughter, imagining their brother, a zealously early riser, complaining because he slept in late.
The pair entered the last room on the right, a single candle Harley had lit beforehand on the nightstand illuminating the space. “Alright, down you go,” she grunted, spotting Tawny as they laid down on the bed with a heavy exhale, tucking them in and arranging their braids.
“Oi. Stop babying me, you ass,” she grumbled in response, trying not to sink further under the covers, soft and comfortable against her battered body.
Harley giggled, settling on the edge of the bed. “Oh please, let me have this moment. I have to listen and adhere to your objectively brilliant leadership the rest of the time.”
Tawny lifted their head from where it rested on the pillow, squinting at Harley through the darkness. “What did you say?”
She stared down at her, a tender smile tugging at her features, ivy eyes warm in the faint candlelight. Then she turned away and stood up. “Nothing. Go to sleep.”
Tawny’s gaze followed her as she walked towards the door and opened it, spinning around to look back one more time. “Good night, Tawny,” they whispered, closing the door with a hushed click.
She studied the wood a few moments longer before letting her head fall back onto the pillow. Tawny listened, staring straight up at the ceiling, to the sound of her sister’s footsteps on the other side of the wall as she retired to her chambers, unlocking and shutting her own door with the same soft click. As much as she wanted to ponder on Harley’s words, her eyes struggled to stay open. She’d no energy to force them to either, quickly falling asleep to the musings of the Underground.