23rd of Ymiden 721
Rorom awoke with his left shoulder on fire.
They'd treated the wound from the mast's shrapnel as best they could at their camp. Dedicating one of the copper pots they could've used to boil whale fat toward the boiling of saltwater, pour over the wound, and then crudely bandaging the cut with spare cloth, to keep the flies and other bugs off of it while he slept and tried to recover. But all their efforts had shown was that not one of them had a head for first aid, much less proper medical aid. Rorom would have to find a proper healer.
"Agh..." Rorom gasped as he rose upright from his sleeping position. Fortuna was there, waiting for a handout as she did. "What do you want? I'm not carrion yet." He muttered. Several of the crew looked his way when they heard his voice. A few shared concerned glances, but then one or two spat on the ground, tossing sand over their shoulder in superstition. He couldn't blame them, really.
Mirq noticed that he'd awoken, and swaggered over toward the ex-captain's resting place. "You okay Gray?" He asked, showing a level of concern that was uncharacteristic of the scoundrel.
"Aye." Rorom said with a grunt, getting to his feet so that he could meet Mirq eye-to-eye. "Well enough that you needn't concern yourself. I'm not dead yet. I'll tell you the same thing I told that vulture o'mine." Rorom said, jerking his hand to indicate the albatross that was his pet. "I ain't dead yet, so stop sniffing about for an easy meal ticket."
Mirq put on a shocked expression, holding his hand over his heart, "Rorom! I'm hurt and appalled. I would never! But... that wound does look poorly." He bent his back fractionally to take in the smell of it beneath the bandage. "Doesn't smell much better than it looks, either. We need to find a proper healer... I know there's a place, Volta, where we might find someone who can help. We should go. Can you walk?"
Rorom glared at Mirq, and shrugged, then he bent over with a wince to scoop up his quarterstaff. Once he had his walking stick, he nodded to his acquaintance and former Lieutenant. "Let's get on then."
So they walked for a break or two, after informing the crew that they'd be back before daybreak. They'd made berth at a beach near the northern banks of the Zynyx river, halfway to Zynyx market by Rorom's reckoning. Although he was a fair navigator, he wasn't as familiar with the topography of Rharne as MIrq was, which led to certain things being lost in translation between them. Eventually, they figured they'd gone too far north, overshooting Volta by a few miles. "Chrien's legs, Mirq. Are you sure you're a biqaj?"
Mirq said nothing but then pointed, sniffing the air. "Campfires ahead. I think there's... yes civilization?"
"Or river pirates lying in wait, to ambush anyone idiot enough to stumble on their camp." Rorom said, gloomily. "But there's naught for it, we'd best get closer to check."
So saying, Rorom kept low in the brush, approaching the camp to get a look at who was there, and hoping that they didn't see him in the darkness. But most of all hoping they weren't pirates.
