The human was kind to all, no matter who they were, or what they were. It was tradition in their family that went back generations. So when the badly wounded, nearly unconscious, and very skittish, Kormwind IX was found on the ground in the nearby wood, they brought him into their home, bandaged the wounds, treated fever with medicine, and asked for nothing more than the occasional game of chess or checkers in the evenings if he felt up to it. -- Anon Guest
[AN: The whole point behind Kosh's story is that he never knew a kind touch before he met a certain someone. So this story is ADT-Adjacent]
Woodcutters have a knack for finding things on the job. Mischievous Faekindred, magic items, talking animals, new family members... In all cases, it generally pays to be kind. Verin had held onto that belief even when it hurt him. He insisted on helping wayward souls who crossed her path.
Even when the surprise find was a grown-ass Hellkin mumbling in several tongues. His skin was scorching hot, but Verin had no idea if that was normal for Hellkin.
She could guess that it wasn't, since he was curled in on himself as if in pain.
She cut up some branches and made a travois to literally drag him and all he carried to her hut. Verin didn't have much, but she had enough herbs to at least treat the symptoms. And hope that she was doing it right, because she'd never laid eyes on a real Hellkin before.
This one was blue of skin, injured by various poison thorns and one nasty-looking bite from one of the creeping biter plants. They had ventured from their normal swamp thanks to the drought and therefore became everyone's problem. Their venom sacs, preserved in alcohol, fetched a decent price at the town market. Enough to keep Verin in assorted salves and poultices.
This particular creeping biter had left some fang-thorns in the bite, which was going septic. Careful work with tweezers, a sharp blade, and a lot of pressure got the worst of it sorted. She applied strong vinegar before coating the injury in an astringent, then wrapping the whole thing up with lint and gauze. The whole forearm had to be immobilised just to make sure that blue hide didn't split.
She checked his pulse, and immediately got his other hand at her neck. What came out of his mouth was unintelligible, but the look in his glowing yellow eyes spoke of fear, anger, and a certain amount of delirium.
Yet he was not choking her. Just... warning. If you try to kill me, I am definitely killing you. Don't think I can't.
"There now, there now," cooed Verin, "I'm just checking your heartbeat," which was fast. Not a shock. "You were unconscious in the woods." Slowly, she moved her hand. Checked his forehead with the back thereof. Still burning hot. "I don't think you're doing too well."
He was shivering, which put extra money on his having a fever. Willowfine would help with a lot. His eyes were dimming, which was probably a bad sign in combination with the blue of his skin growing paler. A few more inchoate syllables slipped out, and the glow of his eyes rolled back.
Verin caught his hand before he could slap himself. Turned him on his side for easier breathing, and set the willowfine brewing. There was another creeping biter mark on one leg. Relatively clean for a carnivorous plant bite. The poison had still caused wicked swelling, so Verin tended it as best she could. Splinting the entire limb so that he couldn't burst his skin by trying to move it.
"Elisa... nein... com'bak... eijuss..."
That splint was on just in time, as this poor sod was twitching in his dreams. Verin kept talking through her work in a singsong voice, using the word 'just' a little too much. Just putting on the kettle and just getting the willowbark and just setting up some fresh herbs for healing. Just getting balm down from the shelf and just applying it to his cuts and scratches and just being really gentle.
She couldn't say how many times he rose and fell to and from consciousness. Only that he balked at the smell of willowfine and yarrow tea and the reed that might allow him to drink.
He spoke her words with some trouble and a thick accent. "Why? Why do heal?"
It was her version of Elven. Technically. It sounded like... he knew a different variation of the tongue, and was adapting what he knew for her ears.
Verin spoke slowly. "You are hurt, and I was there to help."
"...unglaublich... gibt's nie..." He sniffed the offered cup, awkwardly holding himself up. Took up a tiny amount, holding it in his mouth for far too long before he eventually swallowed. "Poison not. Why?"
She could only answer, "You are hurt. I have things to help."
He drank the rest of the offered tea. "Elf... devil kin... enemy. You Elf. Devil kin, I. I not dead?"
"You would rather be dead?"
A laugh, bitter and sour. "Knowing not." He fell more than settled back to the pillow, and fought the shutting of his eyes. As soon as he sank into sleep, he started mumbling with notes of terror in his voice.
Verin could not understand the words, but she could understand the fear. She did something reckless, knowing what he knew.
She held his unbound, unsplinted hand. Like a miracle, the mumbling and terrors ceased. Her patient could get a better rest, so long as his sleep had company.
The fever broke after three days. The Hellkin remained weak and suspicious. He would eat if Verin sampled the food first. Drink only once he was certain the drink was safe. When he was awake, he watched every move Verin made.
It was when Verin broke out the checkerboard that he genuinely smiled. Not the mean and sharp mask he wore whenever he was awake, but a real sign of glee. "You know this game?"
"Rare joy," said the Hellkin. He gestured for Verin to set it up how she pleased.
Green counters on one side, Red on the other. An echo of an ancient war between the forest Elves and Dragon kind. Like all echoes, the truth was greatly distorted. Varin took green, which went first.
The Hellkin made it a very close game, all the way through. Until one of his 'dragon' counters leaped over and captured all of Varin's 'elves'. She hadn't even seen it coming.
He had a very wicked laugh in the middle of victory.
"I must watch you closer," said Verin.
"You can try," said the Hellkin.
She never did figure out how he did it. Not from the day he could stay awake for an hour at a time, until the day he left without a trace while she was meditating. He had left a stack of firewood, but no other sign of gratitude.
Until years later, a King of a Hellkin came to her forest, to introduce her to his family, and grant whatever boon he could.
The king and his gratitude had a long, long reach.
[Photo by Leonard Reese on Unsplash]
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