Turbinio

Garra do Diabo

You were lying on the roof of your wagon, listening to the incessant buzzing of an invisible mosquito. If it swooped down on you, you could kill it with a single swat, but the damn mosquito just seemed to fly in circles above your head, rising and falling occasionally to sing a low, annoying zzzzz in your ear before disappearing again.

Three and a half days had passed, monotonous and without much company. No one crossed your lonely path except for a few hunters and coyotes. But even so, those days were filled with intense activity. The cat, who remained nameless, became a faithful companion for you and Cadichon. Occasionally, when you took a break, it would climb down from the wagon and bring you some dead birds for lunch, only to lie down again on a certain shelf, which it unhesitatingly declared its own, knocking over any herb pot you placed there.

Despite the hurry and daily work of gathering herbs and preparing your medicines, the lazy afternoons of this journey were a welcome respite. But by chance, today's rest was interrupted by an unexpected request for help.

On the side of the road, you recognized a horse that belonged to a runner. A-777. You didn't recognize the owner until you saw him lying on the ground. Your hoarse cries startled some crows from the trees that flew overhead, complaining about the noise. You got off your wagon and approached cautiously, thinking he had fallen off his horse.

You remember well his familiar name. Pocoloco. You watched him as he approached. His hat was crumpled and his thin goatee was stained with a runny nose and tears of despair. His big eyes got even bigger when he saw you, and without thinking much, he smiled.

''Hey!'' he shouted, grabbing one of his legs with the hand. ''You're the fortune teller from the first stage! Damn, how lucky! Please help me!''

''What happened? Are you alright?'' You kneel next to him, but not too close.

''No! It's terrible, a disaster!'' He wailed. ''I swore I saw a golden ring on the ground, so I got off my horse to look, and was bitten by a snake! Damn beasts!

''Hey, hey, calm down. Can I take a look?''

He nodded and showed you the spot where he had been bitten. Pocoloco was a fascinating guy to you for no apparent reason. Deep inside you felt a different aura from him, something special and strong. You had no reason not to like him, but you couldn't trust him too much either. After all, he was still a stranger, even if he was one of the most popular in the race.

You analyzed the sting for a few seconds. You've been stung by snakes, spiders, and scorpions countless times, so you knew exactly what to do in such a situation. But fortunately, you didn't find any fang marks. The snake that bit him had two rows of serrated teeth, but no fangs with which it could have injected venom. Also, somehow you knew he had inflamed tendons in his hands.

''You're very lucky.'' You said, and his eyes lit up like a child's. ''The snake that bit you doesn't seem to be venomous. It's not swollen and the color is normal. Come on, I'll make you a bandage and bring you some tea. Can you stand up?''

You were exhausted, to say the least. You couldn't remember when the landscape of the place had become a forest illuminated by the sun, but you were grateful that you had gotten away from the canyons' ranch walls at the stage's beginning.

You helped Pocoloco to his feet and let him sit in a chair you had pulled out of the wagon while you rummaged through your drawers for herbs and bandages. You quickly cleaned and bandaged Pocoloco's wound.

''Damn... I'm so blessed.'' You heard him muttering to himself while grinding some rock-hard herbs in your mortar. ''The snake wasn't poisonous, and I was saved by such a pretty woman.'' He spoke loud enough that you could hear it clearly, but you didn't reply, although you were pleased with the compliment.

You finally managed to grind the herb and soak it in hot water left over from a tea you had made a few hours ago. That would save a lot of time.

''This tea is quite bitter, so drink it all at once.'' You said as I handed him the cup.

''Drink it all at once? May I ask what this is?''

''Well...'' You tried to sound less embarrassed as possible. ''I don't know what they call it here, but where I come from, we call it garra do diabo. It means devil's claw, and it's called that because it has thorns that stick to your foot like a hook. I picked them in the Arizona desert. They're great for treating pain and inflammation.''

''If you're telling the truth, that's okay.'' He said, drinking it down and grimacing, letting out a disgusted groan. ''Damn, this tastes like shit! Who are you anyway? A saint? Or a witch?''

You let out a suppressed laugh.

''I'm not a saint,'' You said with a smile, taking the glass from his hand. ''also not a witch. I'm just a hawker, a healer in my spare time. You are Pocoloco, right? My name is (Y/N).''

''I see.'' He stood up quickly as if the tea had made him brand new, without pain and completely willing. ''Miss (Y/N), I don't even know how to thank you! Tell me, how much do I owe you?''

''Owe? No, no. I do not charge anything for medical services or water. You can leave unless you want to buy some herbs. And... huh... Stay away from snakes.''

Again the man's eyes sparkled and a broad smile crept onto his face. He quickly grabbed your hand and led you on with a friendly, grateful handshake.

''Damn, how lucky I am! I didn't have anything in my pocket anyway! Are you sure you're not a saint, Miss (Y/N)? A healer, just like Saint Anastasia?''

''No, no...'' You laughed, more cheerfully this time. ''Just a hawker, as I said.''