“I think so.”
“Do it.”
“Henry, I’m telling you that the boy said it was the most painful thing he’d ever experienced, far worse than breaking it in the first place. Besides, I don’t know if I can do it to you. Make you hurt that bad, I mean.”
Henry held his nose between his hands, gently moving it from side to side and wincing. He said, “It hurts constantly, and probably will for weeks. After it heals, I will look crooked in the face, and it still might hurt.”
“I was going to offer, but I’m not sure I know how.”
“How did they do it before?”
“My father put his thumbs against each side the boy’s nose. Then he pulled down.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh does not tell of half the pain. He pulled hard as he set it. And he had to do it more than once to get it centered right.”
Henry was quiet as they watched the fire. He looked up suddenly, drawing Shell’s attention. “What if he pulled too hard and it got too long?”
Shell shrugged, not liking the thought and not trusting what words were about to cross his lips. Instead, he said nothing.
“That was a joke, but I can’t laugh.”
“Oh.”
“I want you to do it.” Henry sat still and drew a few deep breaths. “Tonight. Now.”
Shell stood and went to Henry. He gently touched his nose, but when Henry pulled back in pain, he said, “Maybe you should try. First, move it side to side. Just a little.”
Henry did, and the lower part of the nose moved easily through the swelling.
Shell said, “Okay, use your thumbs to start at the top and gently pull down, sliding your thumbs downward.”
The boy did as told. As his thumbs moved downward, the nose suddenly shifted position and changed shape. Henry moaned, and tears streamed down his face, but he said, “Almost. It already feels so much better, but it’s still not right.”
He moved his thumbs to the top of his nose again, ignoring the snot and blood flowing freely from his nostrils. The thumbs came down gently, and Shell saw the nose slightly shift again, and Henry looked up at him, a sort of bloody smile trying to emerge. “How do I look?”
“Not exactly great,” Shell laughed, “but better. How does it feel?”
“Not exactly great,” Henry said, using the same tone and words as Shell, “but it feels so much better. I can even get a little air through it. Probably half the pain just went away.”
“We should have done that sooner, I guess. Right after it happened.”
Henry tried cleaning himself, but with only one eye and the obvious pain he was still in, Shell said, “Here, let me get cold river water to help clean you, and maybe the cold will ease the pain.”
Shell used the corner of his blanket to soak up water and rushed back to Henry. It took four trips to get him reasonably clean, and the scrapes and cuts wiped, during which time Henry never said a word of complaint.
They ate the fish in silence.
Henry finally glanced up and said, “I’m going back there, you know. I have to.”
“To your farm? It belongs to someone else now.”
“No, to face Smithson. And his sons. I can’t just leave and let them think they can do this to me. Beat me and get away with it.”
The statement brought Shell to attention. So far, he hadn’t shared much of what happened after they beat Henry senseless and he lay in the mud. How much of the tale to share was a problem. How could he explain a dwarf dragon falling from the sky and attacking them and burning their house while a giant wild wolf ripped out the throats of their stock?
“Listen, I think you are about even with them. While you were unconscious, a few of them were hurt, most of their stock died, and their house burned. You will not have to go back and punish them.”
The boy peered at him with his one good eye. “You did all that?”
“I guess so,” Shell said, trying to make the explanation truthful but vague.
“Oh. I think I need to go to sleep, now.” The boy lay on his blanket and pulled the other over himself. He was asleep in moments, his face peaceful.
Shell remained awake, watching the fire and feeling guilty for not telling all he knew, and for not setting the nose sooner. The boy was exhausted.
The tingle of the dragon touch drew his attention. He realized it had been there for some time, but his mind had been elsewhere, and the feeling was slight but persistent. While he didn’t know where it was, but the dragon roosted for the night close to him. He shifted attention to the wolf that roamed the edge of the river. She had just caught a frog and ate it.
Camilla probably sat near a campfire much like his, perhaps along the same river. When she looked up at the sky, she saw the same stars and low smoldering clouds threatening more rain. His mood turned morose. He sat, thinking about the great venture he’d planned for a year or more, when the reality said there was no maiden to save, a wolf had attached herself to him, a pygmy dragon stayed close, and a boy he didn’t know was so beaten he could barely walk.
There was supposed to be beautiful women to save, dashing young men fighting for the rights of the world, and majestic dragons trying to bond with him. By now his name should be on the lips of thousands of the Dragon Clan. The warriors of Breslau should tremble at the mention of his name.
The wolf, lying a short distance away in the stillness of the night snorted, which sounded like a rude laugh to Shell. He pulled his blanket around himself tighter and watched the roiling clouds. At some point, he fell asleep.
He woke with the first hint of daylight. Instead of rebuilding the fire and rushing to depart, he lay awake and looked at Henry. The swelling had gone down measurably, especially around the nose and eyes, but the bruising had intensified. The colors all seemed to have darkened. In some way, the boy’s face appeared worse than after the initial attack.
But Henry slept soundly, and his body probably demanded sleep to recover or at least rest. Shell decided to forego any lengthy travel. The clouds still hung low and gray, and he wondered if the wolf could be persuaded to seek out any nearby shelter before it rained again.
The wolf touched his mind with the information that there would be no more rain today. How does he know that?
Shell climbed to his feet, stretch, and rebuilt the fire, using only a few sticks to keep it small, so it didn’t wake Henry. He gathered more wood and then reached for his hand-line. He quickly caught four perch, then one large bass, big enough to feed them both.
While cooking the fish, and lamenting over not bringing a few spices with him, especially salt, Henry woke. As he sat up, Shell noticed he now looked through one good eye, and the slit of the other, a vast improvement.
“Morning,” Henry said, barely moving lips that were cracked and scabbed. “I feel better.”
Shell kept the smile to himself. “Good. I’m not doing so well. I think the wet must have given me a cold or something.”
Henry’s eyes turned to the bass. “Nice one.”
“I thought it was going to break my line. Listen, would you mind if we stay here for the day? Give me time to recover?”
The face twisted into one of relief. “If you need to rest, that’s okay with me.”
The mental touch of the wolf said, exploring. Just the single impression, not the word, but Shell was beginning to ‘understand’ the wolf and the limited communication. It was trotting in its usual manner, not running, not walking with the long legs that almost seemed too long for its body, as it made the first of several expanding circles around Shell and the campsite. It found an inquisitive field mouse that leaped at the wolf instead of hiding. The action startled the wolf. The wolf jumped back, and the mouse leaped forward again. The wolf jumped to the side and sniffed the mouse before edging closer, then chasing it playfully. The mouse spun, and the wolf jumped away again.