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A New Path for Two

S

Soup

Planetoid
Joined
Feb 21, 2011
The room was sparse, plain dark stone making the walls up, a dark tapestry covering the wall opposite the door. Behind it was a small opening to the outside hidden. Some daylight came through at the edges, filling the room with some additional light to the torch that was held in a hinge next to the heavy wooden door. The air within the room felt thick and smelled of sickness apart from the little hints of rainy breath that drifted in.

At the far side of the wall beneath the tapestry stood a simple bed, made of a wooden frame and a matress of linen covered straw. The thin haggard figure that laid within the mountain of blankets that covered it was almost hidden, the sweaty face barely visible.

Blond to brown hair, bleached by the sun, was spread in sweaty length over the white pillow. Beneath the closed eyelids pupils moved in frantic agitation. Limbs that once were strong cramped now with their last strength, flesh lying close to the bone, against the bonds that held them to avoid any selfharming.

A man in a rough brown robe down to his naked feet entered the room, kneeling next to the bed. He placed a hand on the man's forehead, feeling the fever hot against his hand. He pulled the blanket away, exposing the naked body. Ribs could be seen where the chest was not covered with linen, but still the body was strong, showing the evidence that this had once been a healthy and fit human. The legs and arms were wrapped in linen in several places, but there was long no blood anymore, only pus was seeping through.

In his horrid twisted dreams of delirium the man fought against the linen that held his wrists and ankles down. The monk knew already that there was nothing much he could do to help him. He reached into a pan at the side and pulled a wet cloth from the water, slowly rubbing it over the patient's body, cleaning away sweat and cooling the body to still the fever. There was not much hope left for him to live.
 
The temple was all the world he had ever known. He had been brought there when very young, as a sacrifice by his clan, and taught the words and the rites, like everyone else. To serve the Lord of the Blizzard was not a comfortable task, but it was necessary. Who else would placate his anger when He wiped away the horizon and turned the entire world white for weeks at a time? So the young man's life had both purpose and order.

He was taught to read and to fight, but not yet asked to swear his vows. He had earned his staff defending the temple from bandits. It wasn't easy, to live out on the edge of the world, with the temple perched on the mountainside. As a traveller approached from a distance, it always looked improbable – how could such a building fit on such a tiny lip of rock? But much of it was carved into the mountain itself, including the temple gardens. Parts were ancient, some parts were newer, only recently cleared away to find the thin soil underneath to plant the few vegetables that supplied them. All tasks were divided equally, and everyone had to work. The god was not kind and saw no need to give his followers any special favours.

Hail – named after the weather he had first arrived in – came into the room quietly, knocking at the open door.

“Honoured brother, the high priest wishes to speak to you. I can do this.”

“Why are you here? Did you lose the goats again?”

Hail looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, fiddling with the hem of the sleeve of his undyed robe. “They came home on their own.”

The monk laughed and stood up, handing over the cloth to the novice. “Are you to be whipped again?”

“Yes,” Hail said, with perfect acceptance that he had to pay for his mistake. Wasn't his fault that it was more interesting to watch the morning sky than clamber after mountain goats... But it was his fault for not paying enough attention to his task. A mind should be focused. He was beginning to wonder whether he was made out for this life...

Hail knelt in the space that the monk had vacated, and took over the watch over the sick man. Maybe he would die, and maybe he would live. It was not in their hands.
 
A hair rising shiver ran through the man's body, rattling his bones before his eyelids slammed open as if a monster had suddenly appeared in front of him, yelling at him to wake. Eyes with the color of grey thunderous sky, rimmed with the color of golden sand stared at the person that sat next to the bed. It was only a brief moment of horror stricken staring before he sank back into the linen, his limbs growing slack again. He was not really there, but he was not fully gone either. His lids flickered like he had spent hours in trance and now slowly awoke, remembering nothing of what had happened.

Slowly his lips moved, his throat opening and closing before a single croaked word whispered barely audible past his dry lips. "Water" he had said, while his eyes sunk closed with fatigue again. His breath came easier now, not as excited as it had been when he was still lost fully within his dreams and his heart beat had slowed as well. His limbs had stilled, they did not fight anymore against the bonds, for the moment. The skin beneath was shaved enough, but the man did not feel it. His mind was still too far away.
 
Hail had been lost in thought – he jumped to his feet as the the patient seemed to wake. But no, the man did not actually see him at all. Another dream? He went to unshutter the narrow window. The air was cold, but it might be better for everyone to let out some of the fetid air. Especially himself. The patient had given him a fright. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that...

He had been born a strangely pale-skinned child to dark parents. It hadn't been much of note at first. Many children were born blonde and blue eyed, but the colours darkened and solidified as they got older. This one though... They decided not even to name. White haired and white skinned, with ice blue eyes and a dislike of the sun. A child of a demon or a god only. Hail's parents had decided not to risk it, and took the long trip to the temple. Sometimes he still received odd looks from pilgrims. Hail did not give credence to superstitions, and he suspected that if he really was the child of a god, surely his skin would not burn so easily in the sun, and his eyesight would be much better.

At the word, his gaze snapped back to the bed. Only two steps before he was picking up the half-full pitcher of water and pouring some into a cup, then placing it against the travellers lips. Should he call for someone? Argh. Why did these things happen in front of him?
 
The cool and refreshing water met the man's lips when it was poured into his mouth. A gush curled down his throat and immediately he coughed, his throat not used anymore to swallowing, raw with the dry crumbs of sand the desert had left behind. The clear liquid ran from from the cracked corners of his mouth down his cheeks into his ears and into his neck, cooling the sweaty heat that had collected there. It seemed to wake him, draw some focus into his eyes.

They settled on the slight white face that was bent over him and staring down at his face. There was no recognition in them, but no fear either. With a lot of strength involved the man lifted his had, parting his lips further, but it was not enough. His eyes flickered and his head sunk back, his chest again heaving harder with the energy the movement had cost, and the further exhaustion it had caused.

His lips moved again, pupils moving beneath closed lids. Slowly they opened again, searching and finally settling hazily on the young man. "More" formed the voiceless lips, clarifying the still demand with a flickering gaze towards the glass within the slim white fingers of the other.
 
He pulled the cup back when it seemed that the man was choking, patiently and slowly letting him drink. Hail knew how to act this part, even if it was not quite what he wanted to do with his life. He reached for the pitcher again when it was asked of him.

When it seemed that the stranger had enough, Hail sank back to his knees. (Chairs were only for notable visitors here. Apparently such luxuries were a waste of wood, and there was no need for the rank and file to have such things. Stupidest argument Hail had ever heard, but one couldn't contradict people supposedly anointed by the divine.)

“Who are you?” he asked. A quiet and lonely temple. How could anyone resist gossiping about the matter, ever since the traveller had arrived, barely alive? Hail certainly couldn't resist pestering with questions.
 
For a brief span of time the fever had settled down and lifted the clouds from Alexander's confused mind. For the first time since his arrival he saw the person sitting by his bed. A young stranger with light hair and skin. He did not seem to fit into the burning desert land at all Alexander thought, though at the moment he did not look any different. His strong brown hair had been bleach into light blond from the sun, and his bronzed skin had turned ashen from the sickness, his skull standing out with heavy black shadows through the exhaustion and loss of weight.

He felt that his throat was still raw, amongst other parts of his body. He also felt that he could not move his limbs efficiently. Was it due to his wounds or due to something else? He could not say because his body was covered with thick blankets that he could not move away. His whole body felt strange and distorted, heavy and pained. Wherever he was, it looked like a stony jail, loomy and dark, the grey walls shadowed by the threatening flame flickering within one corner.

Instead of trying to work a response out he turned his head to the wall and closed his eyes. He did not know where he was. Was he a prisoner? What had happened? And he felt tired, so tired. He did not know when last he had been awake, but he felt tired again. It did not take long and he he drifted into sleep again, a sleep that was for the first time without dreams filled with terror and fear, a sleep that was the first step of recovery.
 
Hail was disappointed that the patient wasn't in the mood to talk, but not that surprised. First time he was conscious in how long? Hail wasn't sure, he had spent much of the year further up in the mountains, cleaning up and attending to the more desolate shrines. They were not just consecrated places, but also shelters where people could find some wood to light a fire and a roof over their head for a day or two. For once, he wished that he was like the healer, who could tell better what was with the man... Back to watching. No doubt the healer would be back soon to check up on the situation.

It wasn't a long wait. Hail related the events to the brother and helped change the damp blankets for drier ones, all done carefully without waking the patient. They even fetched fresh water. It was exciting to see the man's breathing become more even, truly restful. Hail offered to keep watch for the night, partially out of concern for the old monk. There were little whispers that they would need a new one soon, and who of such skill would want to come out all the way here?

Hail tried to keep a decent watch, but the man was sleeping. And watching sleeping people was mostly dull. First he began by leaning his elbows on the side of the bed, then resting his head on top of his arms, and then, finally his eyes closed and he fell asleep too, half draped over the edge of the bed.
 
When Alexander woke the next time it was a slower waking, none of pure and sudden terror. His eyes opened, and he felt the coolness of the night air settle on his face, taking the sweat away. He felt rested finally, now after so many hours of sleep. His body still hurt, but for the first time he could feel it properly. For the first time he could fully take his surroundings in, the fever had left his body. Left from the sickness was only his weakened body.

He tried to sit up, but both his shaky muscles and the head he spotted half atop his own form stopped him. By the hair color he had seen, and the form of the body he could say that it was the young monk he had seen earlier by his side, who had tried to give him water.

Alexander could feel the linen that held him down to the bed, and he was not sure whether it was due to a sense of a security, or the fever he knew had shaken him the past hours, days or weeks. He could not sit up due to the ropes, and he could not holds his head up long enough due to the lack of strength. But he needed to know where he was and what had happened. And he needed more water. And food. Food, he was hungry as if he'd been days without food.

So he moved beneath the sleeping monk as far as possible. "Hey-" he called in a hushed but raised voice. "Wake up!"
 
“Huhwhut?” Hail jerked awake, quite certain that he had been having an important and vital dream. Oh, gods. He fell asleep on the sick man. Not only was that unhealthy, but also probably inconsiderate. “Er, my apologies.” He yawned widely, and shook his head as if to clear sleep from it.

How was he meant to speak to the stranger? Stranger that until recently they'd been wondering whether they would be burying. He rarely spoke to the temple visitors anyway...

“You're finally awake!” Cheery and somewhat amazed. He should really summon the healer, but... The old man deserved his sleep. And Hail couldn't do anything terribly incorrect at this stage. “You are at the temple of Fannar.” It was a pretty precise location. There was only one dedicated to the Lord of the Blizzard for thousands of miles. “I was told a caravan brought you three weeks ago. They thought you would die.” So many things to say, so little time. “The gods musty favour you.”

“Er.” He realised that the man was still bound to the bed and began to undo the knots. Some had been pulled tight by struggle and were hard to undo. “Your fever was very bad. You had terrible dreams. The healer was worried you would damage your wounds. What happened?”
 
Alexander stared a moment at the confused other in the room and then a fullblown grin broke out on his face, showing the full load of amusement he suddenly felt when he saw the guy staring at him widly apologetic and at the same time drowsy with sleep. It was the first time in days he looked alive, some of the greyish color vanished from his face with the sudden shift of expression. Though it was late night Alexander felt wide awake, he had lost all sense of time. And he was more than happy when his own grin was suddenly returned with a good mooded expression from the other man as well.

He knew where the temple of Fannar was, everyone did. But he did not remember a caravan. "What's your name?" he asked, his expression stilling with a thoughtful gaze on his face. He wanted to sit up when the bounds were taken away, relieved that it was only the sickness that had caused them. For now there was nothing to fear. He wanted to sit up, but immediately a cloudy blackness shifted over his gaze and wavered back into his pullows, one arm clawing at a limb of the fair young man. He closed his eyes and let the wavering feeling pass before he slowly opened them again, immediately releasing the arm he had gripped.
 
Being laughed at was baffling, but good. It did mean that the man definitely wasn't dead! He couldn't help smiling back, confused but not averse to it.

“Hail.” He looked slightly apologetic at it. No one he had ever met had such a half-assed name. What did they do? Look out the window? It could have been worse, at least. What would it have been like if it was sunny? That would just have been embarrassing. “I am dedicated here.” Still a novice, but that did not matter. Sometimes it took many years.

He leaned forward to catch Alexander. “Don't...!” Saying it too late, but he didn't manage to stop himself. Hail pulled up Alexander's pillows to make him more comfortable, and helped him sit up a little. “You are not yet well. You will need to build up your strength.” Said with all the authority of someone who'd listened to the experts talking. Looking after people's health was not his calling.

“What is your name? We know nothing about you.” Alexander had been brought here with nothing but bloodstained clothing. “I know I should not pester, but-” Hail cut himself off with an awkward smile. It would be against the vows to ask too many stupid questions.
 
"Hail-" Alexander repeated lightly after he'd settled into a more comfortable position with Hail's help. He felt every muscle aching within his body with the movement, but it shoved him at least that everything was still there. He was glad about that. It meant that he could move on. With only one leg he'd not make it far, and neither with only one arm. He'd be dead before the first night was over.

"Hail as the hard ice that will beat from the sky to break your skull, or hail as the delightful greeting another man would give to you?" he asked before he introduced himself. "I'm Alexander, or Alex, if you wish." he said, sticking his right hand out. He eyed it varily and with surprise when it came into view. Around his wrists was open flesh from the linen ropes, that was not too bad. Up to the elbows were the scars of scratches that might have been deep. He had not seen those before. And above the elbow was a bandage around his upper arm muscles. It seemed fresh, but he could still see the infection from beneath come through. Where he had known thick muscle there was bone now, where his hand had been strong and callused it was boney like a skeleton now.

It was only a moment then he shook the expression off. It changed into a smile again, as he stuck it out to Hail. "I must thank you, that you took care of me. Looking as myself I realize that I would be dead, if it wasn't for you, isn't that so? How long have I been here?"
 
“The weather,” Hail responded grimly. “I was brought here during a hailstorm.” He didn't quite like his name, and he doubted he ever would. Everyone else had normal ones.

He stared at the hand just as warily, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He knew scripture, sacred songs, how to break someone's head open with a staff, how to make goat's cheese, but manners? It wasn't exactly what monks were known for, and it took him a while until he realised that he should take it. Hail's own arms were lean rather than heavily muscled. He understood endurance better that physical force, but his hands were rough with work.

“Er, no, not me. Mostly it was our healer.” Awkward to be thanked for something that he hadn't done, and Hail went bright red to the tips of his ears. His colourless skin showed his feelings far to easily. “He is very skilled. I only sat here because he needed some rest...” A pause before he answered the other question, counting the days of the calendar in his head. “Twenty three days. I think. If I count it right.”
 
"I shall call you the happy Hail." Alexander decided, a thought that firmed with the spreading blush upon Hail's cheeks. When finally the hand was given to him he was surprised how firm and strong it was. It did not mirror any of the frail complexion he had thought to see in the body hidden beneath the thick hiding robes. But now that he was not expecting the frail weakness that would fit to the light skin and hair he saw the graceful movements. This was a trained body.

He wondered why a monk would have a body like that, but he had no knowledge whatsoever about religion. There had been many wars about it, he had fought in some until he had learned that war was pointless, brought naught but horror and death. He had left the places of war to lead a life by himself.

"I thank you still," Alexander said to Hail's denying reaction. "You were the first person I saw when waking, and you gave me the water I much needed. It did me good, didn't it?" He grinned again before a hopeful expression slipped onto his face. "Say- After 23 days, could you maybe get me something to eat?" his voice dropped into somewhat of a conpirational whisper. Whatever it was, he felt asking a monk in the middle of the night for food wasn't quite right. "I feel like I'm starting." And I sure look like it, too, he added within his mind.
 
The second meaning of the word might have been even worse. Argh. It was better to be named after the weather than... Nevermind. It was an argument he wasn't meant to have with anyone. He should simply try to accept other people as they were.

“Oh well, I am already going to be whipped for losing a few goats. Stealing food is nothing new to me.” He wasn't a terribly good monk. “I missed dinner too. You must be much hungrier than me though... The healer could only get honey down you while you were ill. There should be something left.” He got up and stretched. He'd slept in a ridiculous position, and how his back hurt. “Don't die while I am gone, right? I would never be able to explain that one.”

He didn't take the torch as he left, not needing any light whatsoever. He knew the entire temple, step by step, without even looking. The kitchen fire was never allowed to go out, and the remains of the stew had been left in a pot close to the ambers. He picked up two bowls and a couple of spoons, filled the one meant for the traveller a little more than his own, balanced a loaf of the flat bread they made here on his arm, and picked up some candles. It was a very delicate balance, and that he managed to get it all back to the room without dropping anything could have been considered a minor miracle.

He placed one on the floor before handing a bowl and a spoon to Alexander, placing the candles onto the sidetable. He did not want to waste them. It was a simple vegetable stew that he had bought, a little overcooked. The bread was brown and dense, and he tore a piece off to offer to Alexander.
 
"Whipped, eh?" Alexander said, eyeing Hail before he left the room. "I hope they spare that punishment only for their monks, and not their visitors." he said in a somewhat lower voice, staring at the young man's back when he left the room. Only when the door had closed did he turn his attention to his own body. He flipped the covers up, pushing them aside as far as possible without moving more than he could. He had exposed his body down to just above his knees.

His eyes wandered over his thighs, the right one covered with thick linen wrapped a few times around it. It seemed there was a deep wound hidden beneath it. His stomach seemed alright, and the important part beneath as well. His fingers his ribs beneath the bandages, excerting light pressure. There was a faint pain left, maybe they had been broken. By now most seemed to have healed. He had been out a long time after all. He was just fingering his left shoulder when he heard the steps of the monk come closer again. Swiftly he pulled the blankets up again. He guess that the other had seen the devastated useless form of his body already, but he did not want to see his gaze when he actually looked at it. He had been a strong men, and he had loved it, he had felt free within, undestroyable. And there was nothing much left.

When the door opened though a delighted grin was back on his face, and with the smell of the food his hunger grew. Eagerly he shoveled the spoons full with the best food he had ever had into his mouth. But it took not even half of the bowl until his stomach was filled to the rim and his eyes grew tired again. Before he could even thank you or put the bowl off his lap his head fell sideways and he snored off again.
 
He felt that answering the words was the best while they ate. “They only whip the ones that accidentally lose valuable property.” And goats were valuable. More valuable than gold in a hard winter... It wasn't possible to eat the gilding on the altar, after all. “My sight is poor at longer distances and I easily lose track. The goats are grey, the rocks are grey. I never pay enough attention, and they know how to come home on their own.” But Alexander was eating heartily and hardly paying attention. Hail didn't mind. Complaints about goats were probably low on most people's lists of interesting conversation. It was better being ignored than embarrassed and unsure of himself... Probably why he talked so much.

Hail managed to pick up the bowl before it tipped over, and finished the remnants of Alexander's food too. He pulled the blanket back up over Alexander. More sleep would probably be the best for the traveller. Sadly, however, even he was not talented enough to wash the dishes in the complete darkness. It would have to wait until morning.

The temple woke at dawn, when there was enough light to see by. Hail stood up then to take the bowls down to the kitchen, to wake the healer to take a look, and for the morning practice. He was no good at all with a bow, but close enough where he could see properly, he was talented. His god was a harsh and deadly one, and had no need of servants that could not take care of themselves against worldly enemies. It was, of course, that in the practice hall he got shouted at – what if the wolves had come back to the area and eaten the goats?! - to the general laughter of the other novices.

To avoid it all, he managed to wrangle the task of bringing breakfast to Alexander. It wasn't much, just buckwheat porridge and yoghurt from goat's milk. Same as everyone else ate, though a slightly more generous portion for a sick man.

“Morning,” he said, collapsing next to the bed. Being awake most of the night and then running around all morning meant that it felt like he was going to break his jaw yawning.
 
When the young monk Hail returned the next morning Alexander was awake already. He had the tapestry pulled aside and gazed out the open window luke in the stone. The thick feather filled blankets were bunched around his waist and his upper body was white and blue against the cool morning air, goosebumps standing along his arms and down his spine.

With a smile he turned towards Hail when he entered, greeting him with a good morning in return. He was not hungry but he wanted to eat, he wanted to regain his strength as soon as possible and move on. He took the food and placed it in his lap, staring out the window. He was quite again.

After some time had passed, his food still untouched, he suddenly spoke. His voice was quiet as if he was lost in though, his eyes still turned out the window into the wind and to the green hills that could be seen. "Before I came here I was at least a half day's ride from here. I was by foot though." his words drifted off and the rest of what he might've said played past within his mind, like a soundful pictureshow like they'd be invented years later. "I don't remember what happened then." he said finally.

"Who were the people that brought me?" he asked then, remembering what he'd been told earlier. He had travelled alone, but Hail had mentioned a caravan that had brought him here. "Are they still around here?" He would at least have to offer them a thanks, if they had saved his life. He assumed that is what they had done. It seemed improbable that they'd first harmed him and then brought him here to be healed.
 
The silence was so long that Hail had almost fallen asleep. He could claim he was meditating, but really he just wanted a nice nap. Probably during the afternoon prayer. Hail certainly wouldn't be the only one to take it as an opportunity for a mid-day rest. It was one of the less noble traditions of the temple: the only prayer that didn't need to be paid much attention to, and the only one a person didn't get punished for falling asleep in. Just a nudge in the ribs if they started to snore.

“Huh?” Hail had been lost in his own thoughts. “Oh. I've never left the temple since I was brought here. Only to visit the mountain shrines.” Certainly not down towards the foothills, and to the roads that merchants and travellers normally took.

“Traders, I think. I wasn't here when they came. They left quickly. People don't like being here unless they have business with us.” Apparently their religion was weird enough to make ordinary people uncomfortable. “They made a donation.” Ill luck to visit without leaving anything to the temple. Treatment here was free, if someone bothered to make the trip all the way up the mountain road. Not that they even had many patients. Anyone with sense would go to the temples of the gods known for miracles of healing. The only known miracle of healing Fannar had ever done was to freeze a disciple's bleeding wound in the middle of summer.
 
Traders. And they'd left immediately. So they'd nothing to do with him at all. Maybe it had been the wolves. There had been many throughout the forest, every night he'd heard them howl. Many of them. But it was a good year, they shouldn't have been too hungry. Alexander had found much wild out in the forest, there were many more footprints than his stomach could take food. Why should they have attacked him? He did not know.

Shoving those dark thoughts away he turned towards his food and the visitor. How much longer would he be allowed to stay?

"I was on my way down to the coastline." Alexander told Hail while he ate, slowly shoveling the food between his lips. It wasn't as grand as the last food he'd eaten consciously, but he was still quite delighted with it. "I was going to take a ship to the next big city." The cities in this area were small, there were only few traders, less goods to receive. Less interesting goods to exchange.

"Did you never wish to see more than the temple?" Alexander wondered, eyeing Hail. He himself had grown up in a small village, but he had always known the urge to learn more about the world beyond the fields he could see. Travelers hadn't come around often, but they did ever again, and they told stories that made of little boys' eyes stars.
 
“I have never seen the sea,” Hail mused. The only bodies of water nearby were the fast and cold mountain rivers, but he had seen the illustrations in the books. One thing the temple did have was thousands of books... A lot of work they did was to copy them by commission for other temples or for those who paid.

“Hm, sometimes,” Hail replied. To say that he didn't would be to lie. “I was brought here because of my hair and my eyes. I am told my parents thought I was a demon-child. Travellers often look at me strangely. Does it not disturb you?”

It was a common superstition throughout the continent, and Hail was not sure that he wanted to live with people looking pointedly in the other direction when he walked past. He tugged at a pure white strand of his hair pointedly. Not yet having sworn his vows meant that he did not yet need to keep it short. Hence, Hail rarely even bothered, and at the moment it was chin-length and tied back. Maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit touchy about it.
 
"It's pretty." Alexander said, eyeing Hail's hair with a grin. "I bet travellers only look at you because you're pretty." There was no doubt about it, the young monk was pretty, and he stood out, no matter what you said. He would stick out in every place, but there were worse things to stick out for.

"In small villages they stare at everyone they don't know. Travellers stare when they see sometone pretty. But in the city no one would care for your looks. Everyone is busy with work. There is so much to do and so many people. They care whether you can work, and if you do they pay attention to you. With pretty you don't get far. Unless you want to sell your body." His eyes twinkled lightly with humor as he gazed at the monk. From his childhood he'd been up here and Alexander wondered about his expression when he saw the people, the colors and the dirt in the cities. And the naked bodies that offered themselves for a good price.
 
Hail blushed predictably at the mention of prostitution. A person didn't exactly get a sex education up here, although there were always whispers of those who sought some mutual comfort. Chastity was not a requirement per se, but it was considered preferable. Most monks here had already had lovers and families anyway. And the idea of being pretty! Argh. That wasn't a good one.

“I haven't even asked to take my vows yet.” He was letting himself run with the idea of leaving to travel, to see different mountains and different landscapes. “I don't want to live my entire life here with goats...” Lacking entirely in artistic talent, Hail was never going to work as an illuminator. His writing looked like a drunk bird ran over the page at the best of time, and no one would want to pay for illegible books. Doing the rites and manual labour were really the only things he could do at the temple. “I would like to travel, but...” He was a coward. He didn't want to go alone. He was scared of meeting new people.
 
Alexander's eyes caught those of Hail for a moment, thoughtfully staring at him, almost into him. He wondered how it would be to take the boy along. He probably was not much younger than himself, and he had seen the young man wasn't nearly as frail as he appeared on the first glance. Hail was capable to do manual labor, and that would help with every search for work or just in collecting food for themselves. But Alexander would not speak those words.

He knew his own body, he was still not ready to leave. It would be dangerous, or rather suicidal, to leave in his physical state. He liked the thought to have another person by his side, he had long travelled alone. But would Hail really come along? Would he really leave the temple, not have second thought even though what he said now was that he did want to leave?

The humored mood had shifted into a more quiet one when the healer entered the room. His eyes met Hail's and he motioned for him to leave. Then he settled next to Alexander's bed like Hail had done before. He said nothing as he pulled the blankets back and started pulling the linen strips from Alexander's body to clean and wrap the wounds with fresh linen.

It was almost a week before Alexander could manage making the way from his bed to the door by himself, without needing to steady himself by the wall. But that was the beginning of a steadily progressing healing. Soon he was out in the garden where the monks grew their food, making his slowly path through the rows of vegetables. He was not yet ready to move past the temple ground, but it would not be long anymore.
 
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