Turbinio

Echinacea and Turmeric

As usual, you were in the chapel, patiently listening to an old lady from a nearby village, who was detailing rather loquaciously her daughter-in-law's attack of sore throat, which theoretically had something to do with her present complaining of angina, although you could not see any connection. A shadow crossed the door, interrupting the old lady's list of symptoms.

You looked up in surprise to see a familiar man rush in; it was Reverend Innes; and Old Uncle Fontez followed him, both of them looking worried and anxious.

''What... '' You started to say, but were interrupted by a third man who accompanied them, it was Mister Marc, owner of the stable, peering over Reverend's shoulder at your hands, which he showed to him.

''Yes, her hands are fine, but what about her arms? Does she have the arms for it?'' Fontez contested.

''Look.'' Reverend Innes grabbed one of your hands and stretched your arm forward, measuring it against one of his arms.

''What the hell is happening?!''

''Language, girl.''

''Well...'' Fontez said, eyeing you doubtfully. ''Maybe. Yeah, I think it will fit.''

''Could you tell me what's going on?!'' You asked, but before you could finish, you were already being dragged through the stables at the side of your house among the men, leaving your gaping elderly patient behind you in bewilderment.

A few moments later, you were looking suspiciously at the large, gray, shiny hindquarters of a mare. The problem was cleared up on the way to the stable. Reverend Innes explained while old Fontez joined in with remarks, curses, and interjections.

Astuta, in general, a good breeder and a valuable animal from Jean-Marc's stable, the mare was having a hard time. You could see that for yourself; it was lying on the ground and periodically the shiny flanks rose and the huge body seemed to shudder. You could see the animal's labia open slightly with each contraction but nothing else happened; no sign of a tiny hoof or a delicate wet snout showed in the opening. The foal was evidently on its side or completely turned over in Astuta's womb. Fontez thought it was on the side, Reverend thought it wasn't, and they stopped to argue about it until you brought the discussion to order by asking what you were expected to do, whatever the case.

Reverend looked at you like you were a fool.

''Turn the foal, of course.'' He said patiently. ''Rotating the front paws to be able to get out.''

''Huh?! You mean to stick my hand in there?!'' You looked at your hand absently, it would probably fit. ''But then what?!''

When you knelt next to the mare, you found yourself surrounded by men. Workers from the stables. Everyone's hand was too big for the task.

''This is going to be difficult, I think we'd better call more men.'' Said one of the workers.

''Yes, it's complicated. It takes strength.'' Another added.

''Don't worry!'' Reverend interrupted them confidently. ''(Y/N) is much stronger than any of you good-for-nothings!''

You appreciated the vote of confidence, but you were by no means so cold-blooded about it. Telling yourself that this was no worse than breaking a boil, you retreated to a stall to change your clothes. You washed your hands with tallow soap.

''Well... here we go...'' You murmured softly, holding your breath and reaching inside.

With Fontez's hand on your shoulder, being uselessly busy giving advice and moral support, you closed your eyes to better concentrate and cautiously reached for the foal's front legs. Gradually, you got used to the sensation of touch and the need to be still when a contraction came; the surprisingly strong muscles of the uterus contracted over your hand and arm like a clamp, crushing your bones very painfully until the contraction began to ease and you could resume your quest.