Page 58 of Changelings
His concern mounted and his ears swiveled backward at the sound of frantic barking from the cottage.
Leaving the goats, Balar jogged to the front door, pressing his ear to it.
From the other side, he heard Shadow barking and scratching at the door. It wasn’t his happy, excited bark, but something higher, more worrying.
A slick, sludgy kind of alarm built in his chest as he pounded a fist on the door.
“Imogen? Imogen, are you there?”
Only Shadow’s barking answered him.
He knocked harder, calling her name, and considered checking around the cottage. But no, there wasn’t time. Histurukpushed at his chest, even the beast beginning to panic.
Balar tried the door and exhaled in relief to find it unlocked.
It swung open, and a black blur darted outside. Shadow circled his legs, barking manically.
Rushing inside, Balar put down his gifts as he called for Imogen.
Shadow pushed past him, running toward the threshold to her bedchamber. He stopped just short of it to turn and look at Balar pleadingly.
A roar and his own panic crammed his throat as he ran for her bedchamber. It only took about six strides, but it felt like an eternity, the cottage lengthening, the doorway always a little further away.
He skidded around the corner, throwing himself into the room.
“Imogen!”
There she lay on her bed, body convulsing in shivers. Her hair lay matted to her skull with old sweat, her cheeks a ruddy color although the rest of her face was ashen. Parched lips lay open, her teeth chattering beneath. She lay above her blankets, one boot still on but her other leg bare, swollen, and bandaged.
A fetid smell permeated the room, and he knew without looking that whatever was beneath the bandage had become infected.
Falling to his knees beside the bed, Balar moaned mournfully as he passed his hands over her. He didn’t know where was safe to touch, feared anything would cause her pain.
“Imogen,” he called softly, “Imogen, it’s me.”
Her head turned toward the sound of his voice, and her eyes almost cracked open.
“That’s right,urisá, it’s me, I’m here.” He cradled her face in his paw and laid a wing over her. Every feather barb felt the heat she radiated, her body burning up with fever.
Brushing her sweaty hair back from her face, he purred and crooned in soothing tones.
Ibás,how long had she been like this? How long had she suffered?
Why did I stay away?
As gently as he could, Balar used a claw to cut away her soiled bandage. The fetid smell grew worse as the linen fell away. He hissed through his teeth to see the angry red of her flesh, pockmarked by a corona of evenly spaced punctures that oozed and bled.
The regular shape and spacing itched at his mind.
“What’s happened, Imogen?”
She moaned, nudging her cheek further into his palm. He watched as she lifted her hands. It took obvious effort, and his heart ached to watch her struggle. Balar almost stopped her, but she seemed determined to tell him something.
Three times, she lifted her hands, brought them together, and then seemed to pull them apart again. It was a strange motion, and after the third try, he caught her hands in his.
“Rest now. I’m here. I’ll see to everything. Just rest.”
He felt her sigh against his palm, and he hoped he didn’t imagine that her shivering had lessened.
