IronJacks
“You're not getting much from him today,” Doc Ellie shook her gray-dusted head as she emerged from the Sheriff's office, followed closely by her young apprentice and granddaughter. “He did a poor job stitching himself up in the first place and burst it all with his stunt off the roof.”
After it was clear their fugitive wasn't going anywhere, he had expediently collapsed and wouldn't rouse under any shouted threat. Sera, cautiously approaching him, flipped back the blanket to reveal far more bandages than had previously been apparent, all of them fast blooming with the crimson roses of fresh bleeding. She'd ordered him taken to one of the jail cells for treatment.
Sweeping her desert-bleached lab coat aside, the doctor let the girl behind her squeeze by on to the porch with a large sack. While it bulged full, the wisp of a kit obviously didn't have much of a task carrying it. Sara's obvious interest in it made Ellie sigh in exasperation. “It's the bandages. Probably more blood in that bag than is left in the man.”
“Will he live?” Sara's casually queried, examining her claws.
“If he made it this far, he'll pull through, provided you don't do anything drastic to him.” Doc Ellie fixed Sera with a keen eye for a moment as if accusing her of pushing her prisoner off the roof in the first place.
Not rising to the bait, Sara rolled her head toward the back of the building. “Dumpster's back there. I can take it if you want.”
But as she bent to fit action to her offer, the old woman hastily snatched the sack out of her reach.
“Nope. These'll be burned.” Doc Ellie sniffed matter-of-factly. “We don't need Hanim blood hangin' around this town. Bad enough we got a live one here.”
Instead of meeting Sara's answering puzzled expression, the old doctor gazed out the long road that led out of town, as if expecting someone to come galloping up out of nowhere. Sera continued to regard her long-time acquaintance quizzically. She'd never heard the doctor speak ill of any of the mongrel, mutt-faced half-bloods that frequented this corner of the world.
Then Sera too heard the sound of distant hoofbeats. The doctor, startled out of her pose, snapped at her granddaughter. “C'mon Naina, we've work to do.” She scuttled off the porch with more haste than Sera would have credited her old bones after hours of working on a strange patient.
Squinting out at the speck approaching the town through the dust, she put her fingers to her lips and whisled sharply. “Jeb!”
Jeb came swinging around the corner from the alley two rows down. Sera didn't want to know what he was doing down there, she just jerked her thumb at the figure becoming more and more detailed on the horizon. Jeb nodded his understanding and Sera pushed back into the Police station.
They'd sedated the prisoner to make sure he wouldn't cause trouble when he was being tended, so Sera hadn't bothered to watch the bandaging procedure. She was curious now and ambled up to the bars to get a good look at the man.
His bare torso was now almost totally obscured by bandages. Sera decided that it was his lack of fur that made her think the man was young. The Hanim had only a few curly hairs on his chest and belly where a male of her own kind would have had a full pelt.
His eyes, however, betrayed a much greater age. Though his face was tanned and burnt by the desert wind and sun, his eyes had creases that only several decades of emotions could carve. His nose was narrower and further down on his face than hers, and was crooked enough to have obviously been broken several times.
Though those ridiculous ears, Sara thought to herself, were quite unfortunate. How he could hear anything with such small ears glued to the sides of his head was beyond her.
She cocked her head to get a better glimpse of his hands. His claws were stubby, blunt, flimsy and pink. They didn't even curl protectively over his fingertips like they should. She decided it made him look like one of those dandies from the city.
She pursed her lips as she took in the extent of the damage they'd had to mend. None of the slashes and gouges had been deep, but there had been so very many of them. They'd missed any vital spots as if they'd meant to torture, not kill. Someone wanted this man to bleed.
That thought tweaked the side of her mind, recalling something Ellie had said. “Don't need Hanim blood... “ Sera whispered to herself.
After checking the bars to the cell to make sure the door closed securely, she slipped her hat back over her head. Smoothing her ears through the notches by long habit, she nearly ran into Jeb as she tried the door.
Jeb, momentarily surprised by finding her right in the doorway, quickly interrupted her annoyed complaint. “I think you're gonna want to hear this, Sheriff.”
After it was clear their fugitive wasn't going anywhere, he had expediently collapsed and wouldn't rouse under any shouted threat. Sera, cautiously approaching him, flipped back the blanket to reveal far more bandages than had previously been apparent, all of them fast blooming with the crimson roses of fresh bleeding. She'd ordered him taken to one of the jail cells for treatment.
Sweeping her desert-bleached lab coat aside, the doctor let the girl behind her squeeze by on to the porch with a large sack. While it bulged full, the wisp of a kit obviously didn't have much of a task carrying it. Sara's obvious interest in it made Ellie sigh in exasperation. “It's the bandages. Probably more blood in that bag than is left in the man.”
“Will he live?” Sara's casually queried, examining her claws.
“If he made it this far, he'll pull through, provided you don't do anything drastic to him.” Doc Ellie fixed Sera with a keen eye for a moment as if accusing her of pushing her prisoner off the roof in the first place.
Not rising to the bait, Sara rolled her head toward the back of the building. “Dumpster's back there. I can take it if you want.”
But as she bent to fit action to her offer, the old woman hastily snatched the sack out of her reach.
“Nope. These'll be burned.” Doc Ellie sniffed matter-of-factly. “We don't need Hanim blood hangin' around this town. Bad enough we got a live one here.”
Instead of meeting Sara's answering puzzled expression, the old doctor gazed out the long road that led out of town, as if expecting someone to come galloping up out of nowhere. Sera continued to regard her long-time acquaintance quizzically. She'd never heard the doctor speak ill of any of the mongrel, mutt-faced half-bloods that frequented this corner of the world.
Then Sera too heard the sound of distant hoofbeats. The doctor, startled out of her pose, snapped at her granddaughter. “C'mon Naina, we've work to do.” She scuttled off the porch with more haste than Sera would have credited her old bones after hours of working on a strange patient.
Squinting out at the speck approaching the town through the dust, she put her fingers to her lips and whisled sharply. “Jeb!”
Jeb came swinging around the corner from the alley two rows down. Sera didn't want to know what he was doing down there, she just jerked her thumb at the figure becoming more and more detailed on the horizon. Jeb nodded his understanding and Sera pushed back into the Police station.
They'd sedated the prisoner to make sure he wouldn't cause trouble when he was being tended, so Sera hadn't bothered to watch the bandaging procedure. She was curious now and ambled up to the bars to get a good look at the man.
His bare torso was now almost totally obscured by bandages. Sera decided that it was his lack of fur that made her think the man was young. The Hanim had only a few curly hairs on his chest and belly where a male of her own kind would have had a full pelt.
His eyes, however, betrayed a much greater age. Though his face was tanned and burnt by the desert wind and sun, his eyes had creases that only several decades of emotions could carve. His nose was narrower and further down on his face than hers, and was crooked enough to have obviously been broken several times.
Though those ridiculous ears, Sara thought to herself, were quite unfortunate. How he could hear anything with such small ears glued to the sides of his head was beyond her.
She cocked her head to get a better glimpse of his hands. His claws were stubby, blunt, flimsy and pink. They didn't even curl protectively over his fingertips like they should. She decided it made him look like one of those dandies from the city.
She pursed her lips as she took in the extent of the damage they'd had to mend. None of the slashes and gouges had been deep, but there had been so very many of them. They'd missed any vital spots as if they'd meant to torture, not kill. Someone wanted this man to bleed.
That thought tweaked the side of her mind, recalling something Ellie had said. “Don't need Hanim blood... “ Sera whispered to herself.
After checking the bars to the cell to make sure the door closed securely, she slipped her hat back over her head. Smoothing her ears through the notches by long habit, she nearly ran into Jeb as she tried the door.
Jeb, momentarily surprised by finding her right in the doorway, quickly interrupted her annoyed complaint. “I think you're gonna want to hear this, Sheriff.”