A Stitch in Time

Exerting considerable effort, Yun Val Daiyu managed to maneuver the man, who was twice her size and triple her body mass, back onto the bed at the rear of the cave. As he lay there, his light blue skin as pale as paper and his breaths barely audible, she reached down and took his clammy, almost ice-cold hand in hers.

*Zalgras, can you heal him enough to ensure he can breathe comfortably? Don't completely seal his wound, just prevent him from perishing, please?* She requested, in response soft, almost non-visible yellow light filtered out of her hand and into the palm of the man lying before her.

"Just give me a moment, Balam. I'm just stabilizing him. I haven't forgotten about you, little turnip," she assured, her voice now hundreds of levels softer than before, as she watched the wounds on the man's body partially close.

*The male will no longer be in danger of immediate expiration.* Zalgras' voice filtered to her after a few moments. Taking a deep breath, Daiyu moved back toward the entrance, only to freeze at the heart-wrenching sight of the young prince silently sobbing, his features resembling those of a wounded puppy. She sighed, chastising herself internally, and approached him with a mask of regret on her face.

"By the Maker, Balam, I'm so sorry. I was too harsh, my brother. Please, don't shed tears. Please forgive your sister. I was just afraid you were too close to danger. I wasn't angry. I promise I was terrified. I spoke too harshly," she said, kneeling down and cradling his tiny body in her lap, rocking him gently as he cried out his fear and stress.

"We will get through this. I am so sorry, brother; please forgive your foolish sister who loves you too much?" She prodded gently, pulling the boy from her chest far enough to meet his now dry, puffy, red-rimmed eyes. The boy just nodded and threw his arms around her middle, hugging her desperately.

"It's ok now. The man was also scared; this seems to be his home. I am afraid we are an inconvenience, yet it is born of necessity." So she gently lifted her brother and brought him to the roughly carved chair she had discovered earlier. Then, slowly setting him down, she examined his leg brace and tightened the bindings.

"Elder sister if the man is dangerous should we not eliminate him before he harms us? He tried to kill you, sister." Daiyu's eyebrows furrowed at her brother's dark suggestion, his innocent tone contrasting the implications.

"We are in his home, Balam. He has every right to defend it. In his current condition, he poses no threat, as you just witnessed. Life is a balance of scales, younger brother. It's good to be cautious, but one mustn't burn potential resources before they've been properly evaluated. This man lives in these woods, and he will know the safest way out. Our kindness in his time of need may prove beneficial to us in the future as well. Only harm those who have been truly identified as a threat," she responded, pulling a small wool blanket from her pack and covering her brother's tired form.

"Now rest. I will tend to the man's wounds, and even if he can't offer more, additional karma from the Maker is never a bad thing. You have nothing to worry about; I will keep us safe," she assured him. The boy nodded, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. She gently patted his head before focusing on the task at hand—lighting a fire. After collecting several stacks of wood, she found her brother breathing softly, his eyes closed in a deep sleep.

*Zalgras, the man is asleep as well?* Her mental voice filled with fatigue.

*Affirmative,* came the reassuring response. With a sigh, she quickly retrieved a K-box and skillfully gathered dry wood, bedrolls, and a few food items, along with bowls, cups, and utensils. Once finished, she efficiently shrunk the box and stowed it back into her pack.

She arranged the bedding against a far wall of the cave near the front entrance before moving her brother once more and asking Zalgras to help ease his pain. His tiny, scrunched face relaxed and smoothed out as soft gold light filtered from her hand to the boy. She smiled softly, moving a bit of his fringe from his pale, thin face.

"Sleep well, brother. Elder sister will take care of the rest," she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. Standing up, she busied herself with starting a pot of fish porridge and boiling water. Her mind remained focused on her brother's well-being as she tended to the fire. Returning to the man in the bed, she approached him cautiously, holding a small first aid kit.

"Sir, I mean no offense, but I must assess the state of your wounds. I hope, in this instance, you can pardon my behavior. It is for your benefit, I swear by the Maker," she informed the unconscious man. With gentle precision, she removed his upper garments, revealing the ugly gash that occupied most of his well-toned chest and abdomen. Her slender, bandaged fingers probed carefully as she examined the wound and other minor cuts she discovered.

*His heart rate jumped momentarily before evening back into a resting state. His breaths have returned to that of rest as well.* Zalgras informed her as she stilled to observe the man's face, which had flushed slightly.

*Zalgras, the pain may have brought him back to the surface momentarily, and he seems to be running a slight fever. These symptoms are expected with such a severe injury. Thank you for monitoring him. Let me know if his condition fluctuates again,* she responded, her gratitude evident. She didn't want the man to wake up with her so close, needle in hand. Dealing with the situation would be much harder if that were to occur. Despite his injuries, he had proven to be swift, and she had no doubt that his abilities would have posed a great challenge if he had been even slightly less wounded. Her small, malnourished body was no match for a fully grown opponent in an open space.

"A sharp blade made these, so not an accident. Someone was trying to finish this man off…Maker, help me if I am saving a villain. Yet without proof, I will not condemn you to death since your home provides us a refuge. Whether you mean it or not, we will never return good with evil." She whispered softly to the man as she began to sew his wounds with a sterile needle and thread. She prayed that the pain wouldn't wake him. Her brows furrowed with concentration as she worked, tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead as she focused on her stitches, ensuring that nothing would cause further harm.

"Blessedly, you are more cooperative in this state. The wound will heal much faster now that it is sealed. I just hope you don't tear them in your sleep…." She muttered while examining her handy work. His eyebrows tightened, sweat-soaked him from the pain, yet he did not seem to wake, for which she was immensely grateful.

She finished cleaning him and dressing his wound. After applying an antibiotic salve, she completed her ministrations by placing a small yellow pendant carved in the shape of an apricot blossom from a sliver of Ilvibole using a fabricator around the man's neck. Then, pulling the soft blanket over the man's bare torso, she returned to the fire to finish the porridge and make a pot of herbal tea.

As she listened to the soft breaths of the two sleeping figures, the rain outside created a hypnotic symphony. Weariness washed over her body, but she fought to keep her mind alert. How many long nights had she spent tending to the injured, sick, or dying? It felt as if she carried the memories of doing so for two lifetimes. A wry smile tugged at her lips as she shook off the thoughts and the haunting images of tired, worn faces.

Gently waking her brother, she helped him eat his porridge and drink a few sips of soothing tea before his little body slid back into slumber. She tucked him in with warmth in her eyes, then carried his dishes to a small table. Pouring herself more tea and a bowl of porridge, she placed the items on a rough little table beside the man's bed.

*Can the male eat in its sleep?* Zalgras inquired. The question brought the image of him chewing in his dream state subconsciously entering her mind. For some reason, whether due to stress, lack of sleep, or a drop in adrenaline, the image struck her as ridiculously comical, and she couldn't suppress a giggle.

*Not possible; if he fails to wake, I will leave the food he will either wake and eat it or not. He will be able to drink the tea, and I have added andris root so his body will have some protein and not be too dehydrated.* She explained, a soft wry smile curving her lips as she sat the stool down and moved the bowl and teacup to a rough little table beside the bed.

"Sir, please, sir, you should eat something." She attempted to wake the man gently, then pinched his hand, hoping the pain would wake him. Then with no response, she sighed heavily. By all accounts, he should be well enough to wake up, perhaps he had been in too much pain, and the alleviation of some of the symptoms had driven him to a deep healing rest.

"Ok, you must have something, please I beg you to forgive my boldness at this moment, but it is for your own good…." She trailed off, knowing the man did not hear her words. She rested her body beside his in a sitting position before leveraging the man's upper torso into a half-sitting position. She used a pillow to brace his body in place. Then, while gently massaging his jaw with one hand, she was able to part the man's lips and force the tea down his throat slowly. Finally, she breathed a gentle breath when she saw his throat instinctively swallow.

With everything all said and done, she poured the last bowl of porridge and cup of tea before tidying up the dishes and the space using the remaining warm water. She took the empty pot to the cave entrance for some of the fresh rainwater, placing it back on the fire, she reevaluated her surroundings. She ate slowly, listening to the breaths of those sleeping around her while waiting for the water to be warm enough to tend to her own wounds.

Her fatigue weighed heavily upon her, seeping into her bones. How long had it been since she had experienced a peaceful night's sleep? The constant state of alertness and the burden of responsibility had taken its toll on her weary soul. But she couldn't allow herself to rest just yet. There was still work to be done, wounds to tend, and lives to safeguard.

Being in the military, where men and women shared close quarters and even bathing facilities from time to time, she was not shy. However, she was aware of the culture she had landed in and the stigma they held about the separation of men and women. She did not wish for the strange man to wake up and create an awkward scene; the drama alone would be too frustrating for her to manage in her exhausted state. Instead, she breathed in and listened again; with Zalgras' reassurance that both males were solidly asleep, she started on her final evening task.

Removing her outer and inner robes to her waist, she turned her back towards the sleeping man before removing her upper undergarment and then working on her bandages. She heard the man shift, her heart rate froze, and her body paused for a moment, checking with Zalgras to ensure his heart rate and breathing had returned to a sleep state before continuing.

Some of the cuts on her back had reopened, oozing blood, but the color was clean, and the bandages had not stuck to the wound graciously. Zalgras had assured her that he would prevent any infection from taking hold, yet their understanding of his abilities was still slightly new, and she could not help her cautious nature. She used the old undergarment as cloth and gently rinsed her wounds, staining the clean water red with her blood, before stretching her arms awkwardly to redress her bandages. She flexed her newly bandaged hands, testing her dexterity, and was reassured by their responsiveness, her hands almost appearing at a distance as if she were wearing thin gloves.

*This seems so cumbersome; are you sure you will not let this one repair the damage? In this condition, you will take many daylight cycles to fully recover. You also keep retearing the wounds with your current exertion.* She smiled gently at Zalgras' concern and mild frustration, responding negatively; they had already discussed why the wounds were necessary. They were beyond inconvenient, but they would help establish their innocence in the future.

As she finished the task, the creature in her mind became silent for a long time. Once completely bandaged, she threw the soiled undergarment in the fire and dawned a new one before readjusting her inner and outer garments. Emptying the pot near the cave entrance, she rinsed it thoroughly in the rain, her eyes scanning the endless darkness that had engulfed the woods.

Gently waking her brother once more, she guided him to drink a little more tea before settling him back into his peaceful slumber. As she watched him sleep, a surge of love and protectiveness flooded her heart. She caressed his cheek tenderly, whispering words of reassurance and affection, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet darkness.

Back inside, her bandaged hands curled around the deliciously warm cup, with steam happily spiraling into the air. She took the teacup and walked back to the stool beside the sleeping man, casually sitting down she examined his wounds once again while sipping her tea, her hands tracing the delicate stitches with care. The salve had begun its healing work, reducing inflammation and promoting tissue regeneration. The man's complexion appeared less pallid, a subtle flush of color returning to his cheeks. It was a promising sign, evidence that her efforts were not in vain. She sat her empty cup on a bookcase near the bed before leaning in to take the man's temperature with the back of her hand. He shivered slightly when she pressed her hand to his cool forehead, before bringing the blanket tighter around his broad frame.

As she leaned over to retrieve her cup, exhaustion finally caught up with her, crashing down like a wave. She fought to stay awake, massaging her temples to ward off the drowsiness. But her body rebelled against her will, succumbing to the weariness that enveloped her. Within seconds she was fast asleep, half on the man's bed, half on the stool, her arms resting beneath her head. For a long moment, the cave was filled with the soft crackling of the dying fire, the rain's patter, and the three inhabitants' deep breathing, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows upon her peaceful face.

***

He was meant to die; he had felt The Maker's hand guiding him to the river's edge. As the weight of exhaustion settled upon him, he surrendered to the embrace of slumber, his mind traversing the ethereal realm of death. In this mystical world, he found himself standing at the edge of a vast river, its currents flowing with the guidance of an unseen force beckoning for him to step into the churning waters and surrender.

Suddenly, a soft voice pierced through the veil of his pain, jolting him back to consciousness. Instinctively, he fought against the darkness, determined to cling to life and protect himself from unseen adversaries, and stay among the living. He had felt that if he did not stand and fight, he was destined to leave this world with his revenge unfinished.

The boy's tear-filled eyes and the angry fear-tinged scream of his sister had shocked him out of his blind struggle. He realized they were not his enemies. In that instant, darkness enveloped him once more, only to be replaced by a gentle warmth that beckoned him back.

Refusing to open his eyes, he controlled his breathing and suppressed his agony, observing the siblings from the depths of feigned slumber. The boy's silent sobs were a testament to his distress, mirrored in the sister's desperate pleas for forgiveness. Her coaxing and tender reassurances spoke volumes of her profound love for her kin and her sorrow for causing him pain. Though he yearned to witness the scene unfold, he remained motionless, aware of the girl's wariness towards him.

Despite his injuries, he had launched himself at her with surprising speed, expecting an easy victory against a seemingly fragile young girl. Yet she eluded his every attack, evading his strikes with ease. Her experience and keen instincts were evident, and had she unsheathed the sword hanging at her side, she might have ended his life even in his weakened state.

Yet she refrained from delivering a counterstrike, her gentle facade belying the ferocious tiger within. When the boy appeared at the cave entrance, her demeanor shifted abruptly. Though her face remained unchanged, her eyes gleamed with sharpness, and her body assumed a tense and alert stance. She was a soldier protecting something dear, ready to sacrifice her own life if necessary.

When he heard her settling her brother down for sleep, he finally dared to peek through his lashes at the thin wisp of a girl. She wielded a small multipurpose blade as she began preparing a meal. Her hands were sure and practiced giving the feeling that she could slice flesh as efficiently as she cut the fish and vegetables she was prepping for her pot. Then, after a moment, she gathered a few items and moved to stand over him.

"Sir, I mean no offense, but I must see the state of your wounds. I hope, in this instance, you can pardon my behavior. It is for your benefit, I swear by the Maker." He froze, his body going slightly rigid as he realized the girl was removing his soiled upper garments, his brain screamed at him to stop her, but his shock was so great he found himself shutting his eyes thoroughly once more, stilling his breath back to feign sleep. Her soft, warm hands prodded his chest gently, all she did was evaluate his wounds, yet he was finding it very hard to keep himself stationary, and his breaths regulated the more she probed. Thankfully, her delicate fingers paused, allowing him to regain his façade of sleep. Relief washed over him like a soothing balm.

"A sharp blade made these, so not an accident. Someone was trying to finish this man off…Maker, help me if I am saving a villain. Yet without proof, I will not condemn you to death since your home provides us a refuge. Whether you mean it or not, we will never return good with evil." Her words were a soft whisper, almost a blessing on the nonexistent wind; he allowed his body to relax more. Until the needle touched his flesh, stinging like million thorny insects eating at his flesh.

*By the boiling depths, she vowed to help!* His mind seethed with a tumultuous mix of anger and pain, resisting the urge to grab and shake the girl who stitched him as if he were fabric woven for winter garments. The thoughts of reprimanding her burned fiercely within him, but he held himself back.

"Blessedly, you are more cooperative in this state, " she murmured. "The wound will heal much faster now that it is sealed; I just hope you don't tear them in your sleep…." Her words reached his ears, and his brows furrowed. He pondered the veracity of her claim—would his wounds truly heal faster through this unconventional method, or was she merely testing the limits of his pain tolerance? Such a technique was unheard of in his experience.

A moment later, he had no room for thought, his brain malfunctioning as the woman took a soft cloth and began to clean his exposed skin, meticulously removing dirt, blood, and sweat. Then, with her tiny fingers, she gently applied a salve that cooled his raw flesh and alleviated the itching pain.

His mental state stayed dazed until she attempted to wake him by pinching his arm, until she moved in close to elevate him, her fragile soft frame coming in contact with his exposed torso. His brain seemed to seize again, and he found himself obediently drinking the bitter spiced tea without realizing he had complied.

Her departure left behind a void, a chilling absence. Slowly, he opened his eyes, peering at her once again through the veil of his lashes. Fatigue weighed heavily upon her fragile frame as she partook of her meal, and he couldn't help but ponder the trials the two siblings had endured alone in the forbidden woods.

He continued to observe her, his mind filled with questions as he marveled at the fact that only moments ago, he had known death was near; however, now he was assured by his years of hardship that he would recover and even felt well enough to move.

Even in her exhausted state, her actions were firm and sure. Though his heart almost exploded as his mouth went dry seeing this bold young girl brazenly removing her clothes in the presence of two men. He struggled to bring his body back under control resisting the urge to fly from the bed and reprimand her for being so careless.

The sight of the blood on her bandages shocked him back under control, a wave of slow anger boiling inside him on her behalf as he saw the deep gashes and healing scars along her soft pale violet skin. Angry red marks from carrying a burden marred her frail shoulders.

*Claw marks? Has she been whipped?* He reviewed her actions; she had carried the boy. It had been evident he could not walk when he crawled around the cave entrance. She had been confronted by him and stood her ground without malice. Cooked a meal, treated his wounds, and fed two invalids while seriously injuring herself. She did not even flinch at the pain she must be in or complain, even though such wounds for a grown soldier would have proven challenging to function through.

His gaze remained fixed on her, a myriad of questions swirling in his mind. How far had they come? What was their story? How had two such young children found themselves wounded and abandoned in a forbidden place? His thoughts spiraled, captivated by the girl's adeptness as she bandaged her own wounds with practiced precision. The flickering firelight danced upon her thick braided buns, revealing the hues of her hair—shifting from black to a deep, lustrous blue.

Her face, though marked by fatigue, remained steadfast and focused, mirroring the determination she had exhibited while stitching his chest. A primal instinct to protect her surged within him, tempting him to rise from the bed and offer his assistance. Yet the rational part of his shocked mind cautioned against such a move, warning that his sudden action might startle her, leading to a confrontation that would exacerbate both their injuries.

Once redressed, she returned with another cup of tea. He prayed she would not attempt to feed him. His emotions were unstable, and he was unsure what to do if she came that close again. Her soft hand touched where she had stitched his flesh and he held his breath softly for a moment before she reached for his forehead. He shivered at the contact of her warm hand against his cool flesh restraining the sudden and intense urge to pull her close and comfort her as she had done to the boy earlier that evening.

The thought of her wounds and the suffering she must be enduring stayed his hand. Then in the next moment, she was fast asleep. As if the weight of her responsibilities had flattened her minuscule frame, she collapsed, leaning on the bed frame.

He waited for several breaths before opening his eyes to openly observe the girl. Her soft pink bow-shaped mouth was pressed nearly flat as her eyes pulled together; even in sleep, she did not seem relaxed. Her hands fisted tightly, and her whole body seemed drawn like a bow.

He slid into a sitting position flinching against the pull and the pinching of the stitches. He sighed deeply before reaching over and picking up the porridge. It was still mildly warm and tasted better than the most refined royal banquet foods at that moment.

He had lived in this mountain to train in secret for four long lunar years. The assassins had not been a surprise, they found him once every few months recently, and he felt it honed him just a bit more with each victory. He had been careless this time, only sensing five when there had been seven assassins in reality. The oversight had nearly cost him his life; if not for this small girl, this cave he had called home would have been his grave. How long would it have taken for his subordinates to find his long-dead corpse if not for her?

After finishing the simple meal, he slowly slid out of the bed from the opposite side the girl rested on. Then, taking her cup and his bowl, he moved near the fire to place them on his little table. He shifted to find fresh clothes, testing the limits of the stitching the girl had placed on his chest. Her salve was incredible, he perceived the tightness around the skin, yet there was no itching or pain, and even the flesh looked less angry and puffy.

His hand instinctively found the delicate pendant resting against his chest, nestled between his collarbones. Its warmth radiated through him, as if its very existence eased his pain and harmonized his internal energy. Never before had he encountered a stone with such extraordinary properties, and he marveled at the girl's inexplicable knowledge and abilities.

He dressed quietly; his garments were a simple military cut, his blue inner robes were short, stopping just below his hips to allow free motion to his legs. His longer black outer robe stopped just below his knees; slits in the design allowed his movements to be unhindered in combat yet still present the elegance of his station. He finished with a soft green belt made from a fabric that could second as a whip or a garotte if necessary.

With his preparations complete, he turned his attention to the young boy lying nearby. The child, appearing no more than four or five lunar years, lay beneath a thin blanket, his malnourished state painfully apparent. His skin bore a bluish hue, contrasting with the gentle violet tones of his sister. Clearly, they were not full-blooded siblings, with the boy exhibiting more traits of the QinMay lineage, while his sister possessed a delicate and exotic beauty that defied easy categorization.

The boy's right leg was slightly exposed from the blanket, and a visible crude leg brace could be observed. Nearby rested what seemed to be a harness and a bulging travel pack.

*Did she carry all of this with her and the boy? How far could they have traveled in such a state?* He drifted back towards his sleeping area returning his gaze to the girl, his eyes settled on the martial attire she wore, focusing on the black jade tablet adorning her waist.

*Taiharn warrior?* His mind drifted back to a time when he had seen a military parade escorting several delegates from the continent of Taihar. He knew they trained women fighters yet had not seen any female warriors in the procession; only men had been visible. Though the presentation was supposedly escorting their widowed second princess to become a QinMay consort, none of the QinMay citizens had seen her, only heard rumors of her great beauty.

The girl before him was far too young to be the widowed princess consort, and her appearance alone would have cast doubt upon her being a warrior—had she not effortlessly deflected his attacks. If the black jade tablet at her side was authentic, it signified her belonging to the renowned Taiharn warriors. In that realization, he grasped the true danger she posed. Even wounded, malnourished, and of tender age, she possessed astonishing stamina, indomitable willpower, and unwavering control. How magnificent would she become once healed and nourished?

*How much prettier would she be without the dark circles, some meat in her shallow cheeks…* His thoughts, unbidden, veered towards her physical beauty, and he found himself almost reaching out to touch her soft, sleeping, travel-worn face.

Shaking himself from such wayward musings, he recoiled from the edge of his bed, as if bitten, frantically shaking his head to dispel the allure. Pulling the covers tightly around him, he settled back into sleep, resolute in his determination to ignore the presence of the young woman who lay just beyond his reach.