(Untitled)

[goingtodorking]

Karen thinks that if she was made for this much rain, she'd have gills or something. Like a fish. The trouble is, Karen Brockman isn't a fish. She's a grumpy little girl with wet hair and wet leggings and a small wet horse is trailing after her, his little trainers slipping on the wet floor. Karen took off her wellies by the front dor, because

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[giftless]

Edmund for one was accustomed to seeing animals you might think belong in a barn walking around indoors. You would be too if you lived large parts of your life in a country where animals spoke and considered themselves equal (if not sometimes better) to men. He had become somewhat disused to seeing it, because on the island of course none of the creatures were Talking Beasts and people had ideas about how sanitary animals could be. This is probably why it took him two glances to realize that ShorHor was not only in the Compound, which meant Karen was around, but unattended, which was odd. Talking Horses roamed unattended all the time, but regular miniature ponies did not.

"What's this, ShorHor?" he asked, walking closer to the animal. When he came close enough to share the animal's view, and saw Karen crying, he immediately quickened his step and joined her on the stairs. "Karen, are you alright? What happened?"

[goingtodorking]

"I slipped," says Karen, miserably, keeping her head tilted back in a vague attempt not to bleed on everything. She draws in a stuttery breath and looks up at Edmund, eyes brimming with tears. What she really wants is a hug, but she doesn't want to get blood on him.

"I...I think I banged my chin."

[giftless]

"I think you did," Edmund confirmed. He gave her a faint smile as he dug his handkerchief out from his pocket, kept miraculously mostly dry thanks to a heavy raincoat he had found.

Carefully, he pressed the bit of fabric to her chin. "Just put some pressure on it," he murmured, perhaps mostly to himself. "And we'll get you to the clinic to have someone check on it. After you've caught your breath, maybe?"

[goingtodorking]

She presses the handkerchief with trembling fingers against Edmund's and sniffs miserably.

"It's my stupid socks," she says.

[giftless]

"What did your stupid socks do?" he asked as he sat himself down proper on the step beside Karen. He slipped an arm around her shoulders too, half-holding her as he considered her socks. "They look rather nice to me." Edmund wasn't sure he would ever wear a pair, but for Karen he thought they looked pretty.

[goingtodorking]

"I slipped on the step because it's wet and I wasn't wearing shoes," says Karen, finding it difficult to talk around hiccuping breaths as she leans in against Edmund's side, accepting comfort that easily. "I took my wellies off because Mummy always said you shouldn't wear wet shoes inside."

This now seems patently unfair to Karen.

[giftless]

"Well if everyone had listened to your mum, I'm sure you wouldn't have slipped," Edmund reasoned. "There'd be no wet step. But we can't control everyone, so we've just got to keep a sharper eye out."

[goingtodorking]

Karen sniffs miserably and rubs her cheek against Edmund's shoulder, still holding her bloody hands still in her lap. At the top of the stairs, ShorHor makes a miserable noise that sounds disconcertingly like a bleat.

[giftless]

"It's not that bad," he assured her. "Really. How about we get you a plaster for your chin, and then I make you some tea? Maybe something to eat? We should get you off the stairs at least, or ShorHor may worry."

[goingtodorking]

"He can't do the stairs. His legs are too little." She sniffs hard and starts to stand up. "Can I have a sandwich? Do you think there's any ice-cream?"

[giftless]

Edmund followed with her, letting her press the handkerchief to her chin but keeping a hand on her back to guide her, help her should she fall and let her know he was right next to her. "Definitely a sandwich. And maybe if we're lucky there's some good ice cream."