Word Count » +3
The jackal shrugged his bag off and knelt to procure what he knew he needed for the blood alone. A thick cloth was pulled out, one of the old bandages he had given up on after realizing Sa’adat was more than capable of making them. A small canteen of water was opened and poured onto this, dampening it. He wished sourly he had brought the alcohol, but there was only so much he could carry.
Once Ezekiel had secured his mount, the jackal moved closer. He had seen the horse at a distance but never been so intimate with the animal. Unlike canines, he was nervous around these beasts. Traders in Egypt had used high-spirited animals like this that often snapped and kicked, and he assumed they were all the same. As it was, Viggo was a good patient—he remained as still as could be expected while the jackal pressed onto his bleeding hoof. Several long minutes passed until the pressure was lessened. The blood had clotted, but it was a temporary fix. Pressure would break it open again, especially once the horse was moving.
Enkiel reached into his back and brought out a jar of fat that had been mixed with herbs. This salve was something he had used on Gabriel, and found quite effective. A handful of this was applied to the wound, which he saw now was across the only soft spot of the hoof. “Something cut here,” Enkiel explained, motioning to the golden-red king. “He will not be able to walk properly until it heals.” While he knew little of horse anatomy, he applied the reasoning that a cut paw would be much the same. Once satisfied with the amount of cold poultice, Enkiel produced one of the large bandages Sa’adat had woven. He wrapped it quickly around the hoof, and once satisfied it was taunt, stepped back. “His other one, now.”
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