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The process was repeated with silent hands, for Enkiel could see that his leader was furious. It was not with him, but the older man’s rage was something that he had seen before. Unlike Gabriel, who was controlled, it was not unheard of for Ezekiel to fly off at something. Like Talitha, he was unpredictable. So the anger he saw was expected, and ignored. He was a healer first—he had to attend to the patient, not the master.
Once the horse’s other leg was cleaned and wrapped, he stepped away. Gingerly, he touched the stallion’s face and peered up into his eyes. While panicked yet, the horse was not suffering from anything more than pain. This was good. His last battle with infection had been rough, and gotten him sick as well. Satisfied, he began to pack up his satchel. “You cannot ride him. Keep him near the barn until his feet heal. It will take time. We will need to clean them every day or he will risk infection,” Enkiel explained, speaking in the well-pronounced way that non-native speakers do. The Arabic accent was still present, more pronounced now that he had been speaking with Sa’adat so often.
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