Beatrixin just helping out ( WrA )
Those deceivingly young honey eyes drifted upwards, looking to the man in front of her with an arched brow. “You hurt yourself… how?” She asked, already working her way out of her comfortable state, setting her thin, work book aside in her pouches after putting a marker in it. She laughed softly as he spoke of cutting down lumber and missing his mark, hitting a knot instead of soft wood when splitting a log. The axe, not particularly fond of gnarled wood, took a bad bounce and drove itself straight into the man’s shin. Being the peon he was, he field-dressed it, said a prayer, and returned to his work. When word of a ”medicine woman” started drifting through the small town, he jumped up to find her.
In shorts and a short sleeved t-shirt, he stood before the woman, and then collapsed his rear against a fence. His entire leg was throbbing horribly, and as Trilly pulled back the wrappings, infected tissue clung to the linens and sloughed off, some sticking and tearing up the runny scab that had already been placed. “You should’ve cleaned this, you know that… right?” The woman asked, those sweet eyes now looking dangerous as they glared upwards from a kneeling position. Her hands cradled the underside of his leg, feeling the irritated warmth that radiated from it. He bashfully had nodded his head, muttering something about dirty water, and grimacing as she pulled free the last of the bandages. “How about you take a seat in the grass, friend?” Trilly asked whilst standing up and offering her hand, which he wisely took and maneuvered himself to the grass-side of the fencing, pressing his back to the wood.
“You know, the woods would benefit from the dead trees being taken before the old and living,” the woman said testily. The grass below and around the man writhed faintly, as roots and stems laced around his fingers and ankles, crawling up the fence behind the man as well. When he nervously began to move and pull his hands up, Trilly pat his leg reassuringly.
“Set your hands down. It’s how I work.”
With those words the peon settled back to his spot, watching the tiny roots slowly be encompassed by larger ones. Soon enough, he’d find his hands and extended legs immobile. All the while the woman hummed gently, pulling out a simple scalpel that was questionably clean, and a vial of viscous mahogany-brown liquid. Anxiety was rising for the peon, who squirmed as much as he could. His head was being bound with the roots as well— they pushed through his hair and slowly wound under his jaw and atop his head, slowly winding closed as the man continued to babble about his concerns.
“Ah, finally. Silence,” she hummed to herself, pulling out the last item from her pouches; linens, which were fresh and glistening off-white. She began to hum a jolly, quiet tune as her scalpel brazenly met his flesh and started to scrape and cut. She was abrading the gangrenous, black tissue, carving with her scalpel and wiping it clean on the linens.
Her humming never faltered, even as the man with grit teeth and shaking form screamed out at her through his clenched jowls. His fingers clutched at the dirt, digging deep trenches with his nails. Trilly did not cease the exercise until pink, meaty skin and muscle was shown and bleeding was starting up again. Once her dermabrasion of the gouge was done, the woman uncorked that vile ooze that bubbled and churned, slimy chasms opening and closing. The syrupy material nearly appeared sentient with its excessive movement.
With the peon shaking his head as best he could, the woman upturned the vial and began to spread a very generous and thick layer over his wound. When the ooze found open, bleeding flesh, it bubbled more and more before growing increasingly sticky and more sludge-like. Soon enough, the sappy liquid would harden and grow firm, encasing his wound in a thick bond. “Don’t pick that off until it starts to crack on its own,” Trilly explained while working a roll of linen around his leg. She stood up after putting her items away, brushing off her hands and turning, slinking off down the road and leaving the man to stew and shudder in silent agony. The roots began to pull away as the woman grew far enough away to no longer be seen, a pinprick down the road.
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