Featherkin [Original Work]

Chapter 7

I don't understand anything.

The words, the actions, the places.

From the moment I awoke to two females attending injuries, to now being in a horribly unfamiliar place an unknown distance from home.

Home.

The guardian had said this place was home. I don't feel home. Just hot and weak and insignificantly small. I don't know how many healers in white robes have been by. Even they all seem to blur together. The eldest female, she said her name was San. She doesn't leave much, always right beside me. Smiling and telling me empty things.

That's what Dask called them. Empty words, to make promises of safety. He said they were meant to lure, to harm later.

Other than in a wide open space where other injured and sick are, I don't know where I am. I've been separated by thin standing walls from most of the noise, and all I see are the white-robed healers. I don't even know how long it's been since I arrived.

San mentioned that I've been asleep mostly. I don't even remember it, these times of sleeping and waking. Right now, I don't feel so unbearably warm, and the Seers seem pleased each time they feel my forehead and wipe away the sweat. Some whispers of the Father's blessing, but I'm not sure what they mean.

San isn't here right now, but another healer is. A female I don't know, small with brown wings. Something I don't know. She hasn't said much, just focusing on removing the bandages from my chest and back. She's nearly finished when a large male steps past the thin walls. The darkness of his robes against her white ones makes me anxious, despite the pale off-brown of his wings.

Black is the color of decay, of lost ties.

She leaves, and the male comes closer. I don't try to move, just watching. It wouldn't matter if I flinched back anyways. That never stops the pain.

"How are you feeling, child?"

I don't answer. I don't want to speak. I'm not supposed to speak to adults that aren't Dask.

"Any pain?"

His voice is gentle and soft, but I can't trust that. He's not Dask. I only know Dask. Others' moods are too hard to understand. I shake my head, and he nods slowly.

"Our Altlos says your name is Vostya. Do you know what 'Vostya' means, child?"

Why does that matter? Who is 'Altlos'? I shake my head again, only because he seems to want an answer.

"Snow prince. It is a beautiful name, one that fits you well."

I just watch him with a blink. Beautiful? Snow is, yes. Not me. If I was 'beautiful', why would my wings need to have feathers torn from them? Why would my skin have to be dyed black and blue and yellow and green?

He seems uncomfortable, this one. He doesn't speak again for a while, and his expression stays unreadable. He doesn't sit, either. Usually they've sat down by now, to remain on eye-level with me. That's what it's seemed like.

"So many wounds, not enough care."

He sounds slightly mournful, but he's looking at me again. He doesn't explain what his softly murmured words mean, nor does it feel actually directed at me. We both blink at each other for a moment before he speaks again.

"Come with me, child. Let us get you cleaned up, so you can rest in a more preferable place."

There's no intent in his words. Just something tired and... sad. Although he frightens me, I get to my feet anyways. A vague twitch of my feyfeathers seems to be encouraging me to trust him. So when he offers me his arm to steady myself, I take it. His larger wing could enfold me in it completely if he wished, and it does unfold enough to cover my back and wings. We leave the thin walled area, walking directly into a hallway completely of wood. The healers mentioned High Nest was a massive tree...