66 Ashan, 724
.
The buildings he passed reminded him of the time he spent writing poems during a peaceful hike through town. He had described the exteriors and their ornate beauty, even the pretties that were found inside. He had done this to practice his form of poetic freestyle. All the poems of the day he kept with the hopes of giving some of them to someone truly special. The piece that had described the scenery he saw and the emotion he felt upon looking at the Greystone Tea House was his favourite. Scalvoris was such a marvellous place, especially when the sky cast rays of sunshine down onto the glass domes and translucent windows- sometimes, if you were in the right place at the right time, you could see a small rainbow coming out of the glass.
He was doing the same thing he had did then (minus the poetry partaking), continuing along his path, traipsing with care-free passion, his chocolate eyes roaming through streets and various alleyways. Every single one of the latter appeared empty. Kotton made a side-eye of deprecation in the direction of the turnpike he had been robbed. The wreckage of boxes and crates from that night were no longer- no lingering evidence tying to him to having ever fallen in a pitiful lump with the mixture of paradoxical smiles and tears running down his cheeks. But who was he kidding? Of course it had been cleaned up. Whilst it may have happened ages ago, it still felt like it took place just the night before.
After having taken a short detour, the young man arrived at the Scalvoris Town Soup Kitchen. This was not his final destination, but merely a pivotal point in the overarching spanse of his expedition. He had always wanted to volunteer here, the helpful bone in his body ever-present, but never had the time. That was until now. But when his gaze settled upon the front doors of the establishment, they near popped out of their sockets at what he saw.
He had noticed her walking up slight incline to the front doors with a limp far too severe to have been anything other than due to recent trauma. He now noticed a few strings of red trailing down her leg. Her hair was matted and messy like she had just gotten out of bed- or escaped a near death experience. Every factor he detected merged into one ultimate theory. Fear consumed his heart which propelled him to rush over and meet the girl. But before Kotton had made it to her side, she fell to the ground in a heap as if she were a wind-up toy who no longer had any energy left to run.
Dropping to his knees, Kotton’s subsequent observation was that her eyes were glued closed, her mouth forced into a painful grimace. She was undeniably exhausted and not just from the wound on her leg. After closer examination of her injury, he was able to determine that she was short of having bled out. It had been pure adrenaline that pushed her to find help may it very well be a soup kitchen- a place of generosity for those who couldn’t find any.
Her injury was gaping and there were more than one. The shapes were reminiscent of a large beast, their claws ripping through the flesh of her upper thigh. She was also dehydrated. This was apparent by a test Worick's father had taught him several seasons earlier. You pinch the skin, and if it does not fall quickly, the person is said to be dehydrated. It had something to due with the relation of water and the skin's elasticity. This woman’s pinched skin remained standing like a valley against a never-ending plateau. She was also very hungry. Kotton couldn’t hear the rumbles of her digestion system screaming for sustenance, but he felt them. Fortunately, those issues were easy to cure, but the eviscerated tissue of an extremity? Not so much.
“Hello?” he called to her, hoping that his voice didn’t sound far away, or worse, didn’t sound like anything at all. “Miss, awe you still awake? Stay with me now.”
Suddenly, a local guard strutted over to them with the purpose of seeing what was the matter, but Kotton knew better than to swarm a person in need.
“Please stand back,” he commanded with the instinctual courtesy of administering some shred of manners in a time of emergency. “I’m a doctor.” A little white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, not when he was confident in his capability to help someone. He was professionally trained in the ways of medicine after all. The title was inconsequential, especially during such a moment of crisis.
Kotton quickly placed his hand on top of her chest. Whilst most would place their ear instead so as to make out the sound of a heartbeat, Kotton’s ears hadn't quite received the memo. When he felt nothing, panic started to gradually rise. He decided to try a different tactic, as there were multiple ways to find someone’s heartbeat. He placed two fingers on the inside of her collar bone close to her neck. When there was still no sign of life, he put his fingers against the underside of her chin and pressed them against the large vein that ran up her neck.
There was still no response.
Quickly switching tactics, Kotton shifted attention from neck to chest and proceeded to establish a pumping routine against her diaphragm using the palms of his hands. He had learnt this from a basic introductory course at the clinic and had put it to practice during multiple scenarios guided by certified medical personnel. The procedure was supposed to help the heart in starting itself again, to encourage the organ to pump its own blood. But after a few chimes of doing so, there was still nothing that offered hope.
Frantic, he began to press against her chest with a little more force, ensuring he remained rhythmic. Every now and then he would make a fist of his hand and beat against her like he had witnessed countless professionals do. At this point in time, he was glad he hadn’t needed to shout to the guard to seek additional help. He had up and ran without direction.
He sat back and wiped at a few beads of sweat that crowded the hairs of his brow. They had started to drawn downward into the look of someone on cusp of weeping. Kotton was remorseful, and extremely frustrated that he wasn’t able to help save her. But he had tried. He had tried for as long as he could. But had he tried for as long as he had seen others do?
“I’m so sowwy, deaw,” his voice mewed. He was about to take a few more moments to rest but flicked that idea off like it was a tick that had just landed atop of his shoulder. He had already rested enough, and the lingering question of what another would do haunted him with the lack of answer. He was disciplined enough not to succumb to exhaustion. Help was on its way, after all, and a young girl's life was at stake. Every. Moment. Mattered.
So Kotton persisted.
Pump, pump, pump. Mouth to mouth. A jabbing stab of his fist to her sternum. And repeat.
But after several long minutes, and without any returning vital signs, Kotton was forced to lean away and huff. Sighs of aggravation. At himself. At whoever did this. At all the onlookers and passerby who merely watched.
A few questions infiltrated his mind during his tantrum, which only added to the many that had already been stirring non-stop inside. As dark as they may seem, his intrinsic understanding and acceptance of death, in the name of Vri, seeped in and made realistic one of the many outcomes of the situation. What was to become of the body? What was to become of the remains? Who was going to be contacted, if there was anyone to be contacted at all? Where was the girl’s soul going to go? But still to the current, mortal views of the now: where had she come from and why had she been all battered and bloody?
Coming to his senses, the least Kotton could do was report the time of death to higher authorities and let them deal with it. But as it stood, he was in more shock than he realised; any additional movement would scare him. He had just witnessed someone die. He had been there to see someone die. This wasn’t the same as entering a room where a patient had already passed. No, he had come to the aid of a young woman who had once been breathing only to watch as her very last breath relinquished itself from her physical vessel. And she hadn’t said any final words. (Kotton tried not to stew on this particular fact, but it would haunt him for longer than he cared to admit.) That was enough to affect anyone, even someone who had seen death a million times.
All these effects, like the aftershocks that came from an earthquake, still left interpretation and it wasn't taking into consideration the plausibility that this girl could have been murdered. But why who? By what? A bear? If, and that was a very interpretive if, part of him desperately wanted to avenge the young lady from a murderer, where would he start? Another part of him was unsure as to whether or not he should become involved at all. Either way, there was no reason whatsoever for her to have died so young.
The original guard had returned with not only a medical professional, but additional protectors of the peace. Watching the body leave the ground sent shudders rippling through Kotton’s chilled skin, even as he continued to feel nothing other than absolute emptiness. Gooseflesh erupted from their source against his lower legs up to his arms and the frigid air did nothing to help the situation.
It was a terrible sight to see; such a small body hanging limp and weak, limbs flailing as several burly men took long strides in the direction of a place of restitution. They weren't headed for the Order of the Adunih, but the clinic, the young man noticed. This was to his benefit since he worked there and knew of many who could help him find closure regarding the tragedy that had unfolded. He truly hoped Worick was there, even if it meant he was working late.
For some reason, Kotton felt inclined to go with the lifeless body and follow her, as if to make sure she made it safely to her final resting place. Whilst he swayed between the objective noun ‘it’ and the proper subjective noun ‘she’, he would always consider the soul of a person with respect, whether deceased or alive.
As he kept pace with the men, Kotton did whatever he could to take his mind off of what had just happened. He looked to the left and right, he observed his surroundings with hopes of finding some whit of distraction. But all he could do was continuously think to himself things of frantic nature. Where had that young girl come from covered in so much... blood? How had she acquired such a severe and grotesque injury? Why was she out at night, so alone? And begrudgingly, but still like any mortal fit to experience feelings of exasperation and grief: why did the immortals choose now to take her before her time?
The sky was seemingly darker, such was his mood. A damper had deposited stoutly onto the heads of many, including his own. Whilst his original plans were to have helped at the local soup kitchen, who even cared about them now? All he wanted, all he needed was a nice, long nap aided by the comfort of a heavy, woollen blanket. But that wasn’t going to happen. Especially when his stomach had been rendered void of anything and his heart had instead taken up all the extra everything- up, up, up a many set of many slippery stairs Kotton went, following the guards that carried his latest patient through the heavy set of doors that invited everyone to the repulsive smells of sterility.
He was doing the same thing he had did then (minus the poetry partaking), continuing along his path, traipsing with care-free passion, his chocolate eyes roaming through streets and various alleyways. Every single one of the latter appeared empty. Kotton made a side-eye of deprecation in the direction of the turnpike he had been robbed. The wreckage of boxes and crates from that night were no longer- no lingering evidence tying to him to having ever fallen in a pitiful lump with the mixture of paradoxical smiles and tears running down his cheeks. But who was he kidding? Of course it had been cleaned up. Whilst it may have happened ages ago, it still felt like it took place just the night before.
After having taken a short detour, the young man arrived at the Scalvoris Town Soup Kitchen. This was not his final destination, but merely a pivotal point in the overarching spanse of his expedition. He had always wanted to volunteer here, the helpful bone in his body ever-present, but never had the time. That was until now. But when his gaze settled upon the front doors of the establishment, they near popped out of their sockets at what he saw.
He had noticed her walking up slight incline to the front doors with a limp far too severe to have been anything other than due to recent trauma. He now noticed a few strings of red trailing down her leg. Her hair was matted and messy like she had just gotten out of bed- or escaped a near death experience. Every factor he detected merged into one ultimate theory. Fear consumed his heart which propelled him to rush over and meet the girl. But before Kotton had made it to her side, she fell to the ground in a heap as if she were a wind-up toy who no longer had any energy left to run.
Dropping to his knees, Kotton’s subsequent observation was that her eyes were glued closed, her mouth forced into a painful grimace. She was undeniably exhausted and not just from the wound on her leg. After closer examination of her injury, he was able to determine that she was short of having bled out. It had been pure adrenaline that pushed her to find help may it very well be a soup kitchen- a place of generosity for those who couldn’t find any.
Her injury was gaping and there were more than one. The shapes were reminiscent of a large beast, their claws ripping through the flesh of her upper thigh. She was also dehydrated. This was apparent by a test Worick's father had taught him several seasons earlier. You pinch the skin, and if it does not fall quickly, the person is said to be dehydrated. It had something to due with the relation of water and the skin's elasticity. This woman’s pinched skin remained standing like a valley against a never-ending plateau. She was also very hungry. Kotton couldn’t hear the rumbles of her digestion system screaming for sustenance, but he felt them. Fortunately, those issues were easy to cure, but the eviscerated tissue of an extremity? Not so much.
“Hello?” he called to her, hoping that his voice didn’t sound far away, or worse, didn’t sound like anything at all. “Miss, awe you still awake? Stay with me now.”
Suddenly, a local guard strutted over to them with the purpose of seeing what was the matter, but Kotton knew better than to swarm a person in need.
“Please stand back,” he commanded with the instinctual courtesy of administering some shred of manners in a time of emergency. “I’m a doctor.” A little white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, not when he was confident in his capability to help someone. He was professionally trained in the ways of medicine after all. The title was inconsequential, especially during such a moment of crisis.
Kotton quickly placed his hand on top of her chest. Whilst most would place their ear instead so as to make out the sound of a heartbeat, Kotton’s ears hadn't quite received the memo. When he felt nothing, panic started to gradually rise. He decided to try a different tactic, as there were multiple ways to find someone’s heartbeat. He placed two fingers on the inside of her collar bone close to her neck. When there was still no sign of life, he put his fingers against the underside of her chin and pressed them against the large vein that ran up her neck.
There was still no response.
Quickly switching tactics, Kotton shifted attention from neck to chest and proceeded to establish a pumping routine against her diaphragm using the palms of his hands. He had learnt this from a basic introductory course at the clinic and had put it to practice during multiple scenarios guided by certified medical personnel. The procedure was supposed to help the heart in starting itself again, to encourage the organ to pump its own blood. But after a few chimes of doing so, there was still nothing that offered hope.
Frantic, he began to press against her chest with a little more force, ensuring he remained rhythmic. Every now and then he would make a fist of his hand and beat against her like he had witnessed countless professionals do. At this point in time, he was glad he hadn’t needed to shout to the guard to seek additional help. He had up and ran without direction.
He sat back and wiped at a few beads of sweat that crowded the hairs of his brow. They had started to drawn downward into the look of someone on cusp of weeping. Kotton was remorseful, and extremely frustrated that he wasn’t able to help save her. But he had tried. He had tried for as long as he could. But had he tried for as long as he had seen others do?
“I’m so sowwy, deaw,” his voice mewed. He was about to take a few more moments to rest but flicked that idea off like it was a tick that had just landed atop of his shoulder. He had already rested enough, and the lingering question of what another would do haunted him with the lack of answer. He was disciplined enough not to succumb to exhaustion. Help was on its way, after all, and a young girl's life was at stake. Every. Moment. Mattered.
So Kotton persisted.
Pump, pump, pump. Mouth to mouth. A jabbing stab of his fist to her sternum. And repeat.
But after several long minutes, and without any returning vital signs, Kotton was forced to lean away and huff. Sighs of aggravation. At himself. At whoever did this. At all the onlookers and passerby who merely watched.
A few questions infiltrated his mind during his tantrum, which only added to the many that had already been stirring non-stop inside. As dark as they may seem, his intrinsic understanding and acceptance of death, in the name of Vri, seeped in and made realistic one of the many outcomes of the situation. What was to become of the body? What was to become of the remains? Who was going to be contacted, if there was anyone to be contacted at all? Where was the girl’s soul going to go? But still to the current, mortal views of the now: where had she come from and why had she been all battered and bloody?
Coming to his senses, the least Kotton could do was report the time of death to higher authorities and let them deal with it. But as it stood, he was in more shock than he realised; any additional movement would scare him. He had just witnessed someone die. He had been there to see someone die. This wasn’t the same as entering a room where a patient had already passed. No, he had come to the aid of a young woman who had once been breathing only to watch as her very last breath relinquished itself from her physical vessel. And she hadn’t said any final words. (Kotton tried not to stew on this particular fact, but it would haunt him for longer than he cared to admit.) That was enough to affect anyone, even someone who had seen death a million times.
All these effects, like the aftershocks that came from an earthquake, still left interpretation and it wasn't taking into consideration the plausibility that this girl could have been murdered. But why who? By what? A bear? If, and that was a very interpretive if, part of him desperately wanted to avenge the young lady from a murderer, where would he start? Another part of him was unsure as to whether or not he should become involved at all. Either way, there was no reason whatsoever for her to have died so young.
The original guard had returned with not only a medical professional, but additional protectors of the peace. Watching the body leave the ground sent shudders rippling through Kotton’s chilled skin, even as he continued to feel nothing other than absolute emptiness. Gooseflesh erupted from their source against his lower legs up to his arms and the frigid air did nothing to help the situation.
It was a terrible sight to see; such a small body hanging limp and weak, limbs flailing as several burly men took long strides in the direction of a place of restitution. They weren't headed for the Order of the Adunih, but the clinic, the young man noticed. This was to his benefit since he worked there and knew of many who could help him find closure regarding the tragedy that had unfolded. He truly hoped Worick was there, even if it meant he was working late.
For some reason, Kotton felt inclined to go with the lifeless body and follow her, as if to make sure she made it safely to her final resting place. Whilst he swayed between the objective noun ‘it’ and the proper subjective noun ‘she’, he would always consider the soul of a person with respect, whether deceased or alive.
As he kept pace with the men, Kotton did whatever he could to take his mind off of what had just happened. He looked to the left and right, he observed his surroundings with hopes of finding some whit of distraction. But all he could do was continuously think to himself things of frantic nature. Where had that young girl come from covered in so much... blood? How had she acquired such a severe and grotesque injury? Why was she out at night, so alone? And begrudgingly, but still like any mortal fit to experience feelings of exasperation and grief: why did the immortals choose now to take her before her time?
The sky was seemingly darker, such was his mood. A damper had deposited stoutly onto the heads of many, including his own. Whilst his original plans were to have helped at the local soup kitchen, who even cared about them now? All he wanted, all he needed was a nice, long nap aided by the comfort of a heavy, woollen blanket. But that wasn’t going to happen. Especially when his stomach had been rendered void of anything and his heart had instead taken up all the extra everything- up, up, up a many set of many slippery stairs Kotton went, following the guards that carried his latest patient through the heavy set of doors that invited everyone to the repulsive smells of sterility.
