"It's mainly bruising," she said. "But I'm more concerned about your head. You could have a concussion and we need to be careful. I'm going to mix you something, which I want you to drink. It will take away some of the pain, though not all and help steady you. I want to keep an eye on you for a few hours. There'll be no sleep."
"I -- "
"No, don't try and talk. Just try and relax."
He watched as she placed a pot on the stove, filled it with water from a jug sitting nearby and then proceeded to pour a mixture of things from various packets into the pot. She stirred it slowly, mixing the ingredients. All the while she concentrated, barely taking her eyes from the task at hand. Sandon watched her, trying to guess how old she might be. It was hard to tell with the simple homespun dress, the lack of personal decoration. She could be late twenties, perhaps early thirties, but no older than that. Finally, she seemed satisfied, and she dipped a plain pottery mug into the brew, and returned to him, cupping it between her hands.
"Careful. It's hot. Sip, don't swallow," she said offering the mug. "What are you called?"
"Sandon Yl Aris."
"Well, Sandon Yl Aris, drink this slowly."
Sandon took the proffered mug. "And what about you? I know you are Alise. But what else? Alise what?" She hesitated, looking slightly confused. "Oh, I forgot," he said. "Badrae told me. You don't have family names."
"No, we are all one family here."
"Well, you can call me Sandon," he said. "Just Sandon is fine."
He took a tentative sip at the mug, expecting the worst. It didn't taste too bad, after all, slightly earthy, but not too bad. He took another sip.
She fussed around the shelves, looking for something, then returned with a pot and a small wooden spatula.
"Sit still," she said. "I am going to apply an ointment to those cuts on your face. It will stain the skin, but you must keep it there. It will make sure there's no infection."
He hadn't even been aware of the smaller cuts, but as she first patted his skin clean with a moist cloth, and then dabbed the preparation over his forehead, he very quickly knew they were there. Everywhere she smeared the ointment, there was a sharp hot stinging, tracing the lines of damage. The cut that ran across his cheek and over his nose burned like fire and he sucked air in through his teeth. Finally she sat back, inspecting her handiwork and nodded.
"When you have finished that, we will find you somewhere where you can stay undisturbed and I can look in on you, but take your time. There's no hurry. Give it time to work." She moved to sit cross-legged on the sleep pallet, watching him.
"So what are you doing here?" Sandon asked, after another sip. He reached up with one hand to probe his injured face, but quickly withdrew it in response to a stern look.
"We are where we are, where the Prophet takes us."
Sandon slowly lowered the mug. "But I thought you believed the cities and all they represent were evil. Why so many of you so close to Yarik?"
"We are where we are."
"But -- "
Alise shook her head. "Drink."
Sandon bit off his next question and took another sip at the medicinal brew. He was itching to find out more, but she was right, he was in no real state for logical thought. Despite his curiosity, the pounding still thumped inside his head. Better to drink whatever it was she had prepared for him and let it do its work if it was going to do anything. Then he remembered. On the journey to the camp, Badrae had mentioned a healer, but he had the distinct impression that whoever it was had been a man.
"So," he said. "Are you the healer?"
"I help in that regard. I am not alone in this task. We share the work amongst those with the knowledge."
Sandon nodded and immediately regretted the action. He grimaced and returned to the brew, feeling slightly uncomfortable under Alise's gaze.
