Young Writers Society

Miles watched, heart beating, and pained, as Kalan slowly limped forward. His father rushed for him, as did Marshall Deston. The guards followed in suit. As his father reached him, Kalan completely collapsed. Mister Greene just caught him before he hit the ground.

“Kalan! What happened! Who did this!” he said, anger swelling in his chest.

Miles was having a hard time breathing, and it didn’t have to do with the fact that he had been running for several miles. He muttered to himself: “Castor couldn’t have done this. Could she? Could she really have been this angry at him?”

Deston helped Greene carry Kalan to the horses. He cried out in pain as he was practically dragged. Miles could see that he didn’t even attempt to walk. Miles stepped forward now. He looked over Kalan.

The twisted arm was the biggest concern. Miles un-intentionally shivered as he looked at the grotesque wound. Kalan’s wrist was majorly higher than his hand. It was obviously broken.

“Shattered clear through, I’m guessing. Let me see if his legs are injured badly.” Miles said, squatting down.

Although the pants were torn and dusty, not to mention splotched with dried blood, there didn’t look to be any breaks or fractures. “Lots of cuts and bruises. They should be fine though.”

Deston nodded to the guards. “Get him up on a horse. He needs to see the doctor quickly.”

Together, so as not to hurt him, the soldiers lifted Kalan’s battered body on the horse. His broken wrist brushed against the horse's neck when they lowered him into the saddle, causing him to moan loudly.

Miles felt horrible. He had never had a broken arm, but it was blatantly obvious that this was very, very painful. He winced as Kalan whimpered when they turned the horse around. Mister Greene moved to be next to him. He was unsure of what to do, and yet wanted to do something. Miles noticed the look in his eyes of miserable helplessness.

“Mister Greene, please, can we use your shirt to make a temporary cast for Kalan?” he asked.

Mister Greene nodded, quickly unbuttoning the grubby shirt. He then, with Deston’s help, tied it around Kalan’s shoulder and under his arm. Kalan cried out once, and then fell silent. Miles wouldn’t be surprised if he had fainted.

When the cast was made, the group moved out slowly. Despite the pace set, the slight bouncing still sent pain up Kalan’s arm, and he cried silently. Miles’ heart ached. Even though these injuries weren’t fatal, seeing someone in so much pain hurt him.

It took a good half-hour to get Kalan back to the village. Miles felt tired after the trip. Even though he was conditioned, running the whole way there was a little tiring, and having to listen to Kalan moaning in pain the whole way back was very mentally exhausting.

When they reached the village, Deston ordered his guards to get the doctor. His house was on the far side of the village, and when they arrived at his house, the doctor was already waiting inside with the two guards.

Gently, Deston and Greene helped Kalan get in the building. There was a hanging lamp, as well as two open windows to provide light for the doctor to see everything clearly. Three beds were laid out in the first room, and Kalan was led to the middle one.

He had woken up and was wincing and muttering curses under his breath. The doctor, an older man with balding hair, but still with the steadiest hands in the village, smiled at him.

“Hello Kalan. Let’s see what we have here.” He turned to the others. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to do this alone.”

Everyone quickly cleared out, shutting the door behind them. Miles stood near the horses, unsure of what to do. He could stay here and wait. He wasn’t sure why he would do that. He didn’t like Kalan, and yet he felt bad for him. However, he also wanted to speak to Castor and speak to her.

He decided to leave. He knew that resetting the bone was going to be an excruciatingly painful experience for Kalan, and he wanted to be as far away as he could at the time. He had no doubt there would some very loud yelling.

He hurried down the street to where it turned to the left, towards Ray’s house, where Castor said she was doing laundry. He spotted her in the backyard of the one-story, stone cottage with a thatch roof. Ray was nowhere to be seen.

Miles opened the small, white wicker fence. Castor looked up from where she was taking clothes down from a laundry line hanging between the cottage and a tree. She saw Miles and quickly resumed her job.

Miles stopped when he reached her, hands in his pocket, unsure of how to begin. Castor didn’t seem to care to initiate the conversation. Finally he worked up the courage, and blurted out: “Kalan’s been injured really bad!”

Castor inclined her head slightly towards him. “And? Why should I care?”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Well I knew you were angry at him . . . I thought maybe . . . look, he’s hurt really bad, and I want to know if you did it.”

Castor suddenly seemed very intent on doing the best folding job she could. She ignored Miles’ stare, and began to make sure the shirt she was folding was done just right. Miles noticed the rest of the clothes had been rather loosely folded.

She said nothing.

“Come on, Castor, this is-“

A muffled scream emitted from the direction of the doctor’s house. Castor and Miles both jumped at the sound.

“What was that?” She asked, still quite busy with the clothes she was folding.

Miles sighed. “That was Kalan. His wrist was broken very badly, and the doctor must’ve just reset it.”

Castor was visibly shaken by that. “Broken? How?” Her voice came out a softer then she intended. “I mean, I don’t really care, but I’d rather have gotten back at him myself.” She rubbed her jaw, before folding a new shirt.

Miles sighed inwardly. Castor wouldn’t have acted like this unless she had something to do with it. She felt distant and uncaring, but at the same time, fake. “Castor, did you attack Kalan?”

She glanced at him and then looked away. “It was an accident, Miles. I just meant to teach him a lesson!”

“What did you do to him! He looked like he was launched out of a catapult or something!” Miles rarely got this excited over something, but it was a serious thing that Castor had done.

“I said it was an accident!” Her tone took a defensive stance. “I had no idea he was going to be riding a horse!”

Miles rolled his eyes. “What do people generally ride, Castor? You mean you tripped his horse or something?”

She threw the shirt on the ground. “Look, I thought he was going to be running, OK! His horse is sick.”

“And how did you find that out? Eavesdropping?”

Castor’s face was turning red, as was Miles. “Look Miles, it was an accident! And it‘s his fault for being a jerk in the first place!”

“Oh come on!” Miles said, “Don’t act like you haven’t inflicted as much hate on him as he has on you!”

Castor turned on him. “I have only ever acted in defense!”

“Like punching him this morning!”

Castor said nothing, knowing that what he said was true. Miles took the chance to take a breath and calm himself down. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “Look Castor, forget about any of the stuff in the past between you two. You could have killed him.”

Castor growled. “Shut up! I’m not stupid! I already said it was an accident!”

With that she stormed out of the yard, leaving Miles standing alone. He stood silently for a good few minutes, trying to collect his thoughts. Finally, knowing that things at the inn were going to be awkward tonight, he slowly walked away, hands in his pockets.