Word Count :: 500+
As the aloe was spread onto her wound it both soothed and agitated the cut. The cooling, healing properties of the salve began to work at once, calming the flame within the wound. A moment later as it soaked in and began to take root in the open flesh she felt a tingling sensation. The woman wriggled her fingers and flexed her palm, testing it out for a moment before letting Odessa wrap the bandage around it.
She detected the measure of pride in Odessa’s voice when she spoke her name – it was the same pleasure Liliya herself often spoke her own surname with. The name D’Angelo struck a familiar chord inside her as she remembered the visage of the man she’d once angered just weeks into her membership in Salsoa. The memory also called another face to mind – that of the startled slave who had gotten her into that whole mess. She dropped her eyes, dashing the awful memory from her conscience, and then returned her gaze to Odessa. It was nice to be able to look someone in the face for once.
“Is strong name,” she complimented as Odessa affixed the bandage to her palm. “Is sturdy, powerful, like Russo. Your pride is good, you have good heritage.”
When she wrapped the bandage firmly around her hand the pressure calmed the last of the pain, the injury was now nothing more than a dull annoyance. A smile cracked her muzzle as she inspected the wrapping, pleased with the results. “Is much better now! Thank you.” But grateful as she was she didn’t feel like it was right taking the entire pot of aloe. She shook her head, waving her hand. “No, no, I couldn’t. Keep for later.” But she saw a sincerity in Odessa’s eyes that eventually made her accept the ointment. She smiled thankfully as she took it from her.
“Salt vater should be no problem, I am in no short supply of that,” she joked as she turned to look at the bay. “But somehow I think this is not what you are meaning.” She laughed softly; it was a strangely feminine sound for the Russian. Time was changing her, and she was rarely the gentile creature she had been in her youth.
Her hands went to her hips – one fist still wrapped around the jar – and she gazed out over the wavy sea to peer at the island in the distance. “Is beautiful sight, no? Is like a paradise there, I think, the land surrounded by vhater. We vill get there, I vill be makingk sure of that. Maybe you come with me first, on my little boat’s maiden voyage to the island.” She bent down and deposited the container of salve on the ground as she picked up the hammer, then straightened up and smiled at Odessa. “You helped. I vill tell them that. I vill tell them, ‘the D’Angelo, she is useful. Useful like Russo.’” She tapped herself gently on the chest with the butt of the hammer and her grin widened as though she had bestowed a great honor upon the woman. “How can I repay you the favor, D’Angelo woman?”
Image courtesy of mnshots@Flickr; table by the Mentors!
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