Word Count » +3
A long time ago, he had been master of life and death. Dead men worshiped him and his kin. Once he had imagined himself Horus, but what was there for him the sun? No, he belonged to the river, the water, and the depths. So the jackal who was once Sobek ignored the world around him. He heard but did not hear the cries from the girl, and he saw but did not see the look of fury on the fact of the man. With speed that lacked panic, he cleaned his tools in the hot flame.
By the time Helotes had returned, he was prepared. Long, lean fingers dipped the soft leather into the cold water. It was frigid, but this was not a bad thing—it could numb her until he had prepared something to ease the pain. He used these wet scraps to wipe away the blood, and found that the major wounds were only two in number. While smaller scrapes and cuts were apparent, his concern was with the deep teeth marks over her shoulder. They ran down her ribs, and were bleeding yet. With her size, this worried him.
The secondary wound was near her thigh, and again caused by teeth. While this was also deep, it was likely the last one she had received. Deep near the front, it faded to skin-deep scrapes. The deepest punctures were leaking blood, but none to the extent of the wound near her chest. All of the rags were dropped onto the floor, now bloodied, their purpose gone. “Heat the water for me, Helotes,” Enkiel said, acknowledging that the male was likely not going to leave. “Zana, I’m going to need to close some of these wounds.” This was the only warning he gave.
With the catgut strung, Enkiel made the first stitch. He was fast—he could get through this in several minutes, though he was certain to the girl, it would feel like an eternity. There was no time to ease her pain yet.
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