Borel, groaning back down onto his grassy bed. “On morrow morn. But for now, I need rest.”
“As you wish,” said Flic.
In moments, the prince fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
When Borel awoke in the early light of dawn, he had stiffened up in the night, and he was slow to rise. Once on his feet, he looked to see Flic asleep and curled on the leaf next to Buzzer. The bee, however, was awake, yet she remained still by her ward.
Moving with difficulty, Borel added more branches to the yet-glowing coals of the fire, and blew up a blaze, and when the flames were well caught, he took up his tricorn and hobbled to the river and scooped up a hatful of water and drank his fill. He then selected a number of rounded river rocks, all nigh the size of a chicken egg. These he took back to the fire and placed them among the burning branches. Back to the river he stumped and again filled the tricorn with water, and back to the camp he limped.
Then he groaned down with his back to a tree and ate leftover rabbit, while with his flint knife he scraped away at the coney skin and waited for Flic to awaken.
As the sun rose, so did the Sprite. “We’ll need two washed-clean, fairly flat rocks,” said Flic, “though if you can find two slightly hollowed, that would be even better. One on which to crush the moss to paste; the other to squeeze the juice from the herbs. We’ll also need a couple of rounded river rocks to do the crushing. But as to making the tisane, we’ll need water and a way to heat it.”
“The water is in my hat,” said Borel, “and the way to heat it is in the fire.”
Flic glanced at the fire. “Ah, I see. But how will you fetch them out from the flames?”
Borel hefted his flint knife and pointed at a nearby young tree. “I’ll cut a forked branch.”
“Then, my lord, while Buzzer and I break fast, you gather what we need.”
After cutting the branch from the limb and trimming it to suit his purpose, Borel took up his quiver and the scraped rabbit skin and hobbled down to the river, where he thoroughly wetted down the hide and rolled it tightly and dropped it into the quiver. Then he found two flat rocks slightly hollowed to act as mortars and two round ones to act as pestles. As he limped back to the camp, Flic flew alongside and pointed and said, “Buzzer has found a stand of viburnum at the base of that steep hillside just across the field.”
“Splendid,” said Borel and, gritting his teeth, he hobbled on, while Flic sped back to the blossoming field to continue his breakfast.
When Flic and Buzzer returned to camp, Borel donned one of his gloves and slid the fork of the cut branch under a hot rock and dropped it into the water in his hat. Shortly, with his gloved hand he fished that rock out and put it back into the fire, and scooped another one in. In less than a quarter candlemark the water was bubbling, and Flic said, “There is too much. Pour a bit out . . . say, half.”
After Borel had done so, the Sprite dropped a selection of different blossoms into the liquid.
“Stir it, my lord.”
Borel used his forked stick to stir the blossoms ’round and ’round and under. After long moments of doing so, Flic said, “Let me see.”
Borel stopped, and the Sprite stuck in a finger and tasted. “A bit more stirring, Prince.”
Twice more Borel stirred and twice did Flic taste, and at last he said, “Drink it all, Lord Borel, in one gulp if you can.”
The tisane was quite bitter, the heat of the liquid making it even more so, but Borel squinched up his face and swallowed the whole of it.
Borel shuddered with the aftertaste and set the tricorn aside, and Flic grinned at him and said, “Now for the moss and herbs.”
With Flic working on the places Borel could not see or easily reach, they washed his scrapes with the juice of the herbs and smeared a thin film of moss pulp over his bruises. As Borel eased back into his silks and leathers, Flic said, “We’ll do this
“As you wish,” said Flic.
In moments, the prince fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
When Borel awoke in the early light of dawn, he had stiffened up in the night, and he was slow to rise. Once on his feet, he looked to see Flic asleep and curled on the leaf next to Buzzer. The bee, however, was awake, yet she remained still by her ward.
Moving with difficulty, Borel added more branches to the yet-glowing coals of the fire, and blew up a blaze, and when the flames were well caught, he took up his tricorn and hobbled to the river and scooped up a hatful of water and drank his fill. He then selected a number of rounded river rocks, all nigh the size of a chicken egg. These he took back to the fire and placed them among the burning branches. Back to the river he stumped and again filled the tricorn with water, and back to the camp he limped.
Then he groaned down with his back to a tree and ate leftover rabbit, while with his flint knife he scraped away at the coney skin and waited for Flic to awaken.
As the sun rose, so did the Sprite. “We’ll need two washed-clean, fairly flat rocks,” said Flic, “though if you can find two slightly hollowed, that would be even better. One on which to crush the moss to paste; the other to squeeze the juice from the herbs. We’ll also need a couple of rounded river rocks to do the crushing. But as to making the tisane, we’ll need water and a way to heat it.”
“The water is in my hat,” said Borel, “and the way to heat it is in the fire.”
Flic glanced at the fire. “Ah, I see. But how will you fetch them out from the flames?”
Borel hefted his flint knife and pointed at a nearby young tree. “I’ll cut a forked branch.”
“Then, my lord, while Buzzer and I break fast, you gather what we need.”
After cutting the branch from the limb and trimming it to suit his purpose, Borel took up his quiver and the scraped rabbit skin and hobbled down to the river, where he thoroughly wetted down the hide and rolled it tightly and dropped it into the quiver. Then he found two flat rocks slightly hollowed to act as mortars and two round ones to act as pestles. As he limped back to the camp, Flic flew alongside and pointed and said, “Buzzer has found a stand of viburnum at the base of that steep hillside just across the field.”
“Splendid,” said Borel and, gritting his teeth, he hobbled on, while Flic sped back to the blossoming field to continue his breakfast.
When Flic and Buzzer returned to camp, Borel donned one of his gloves and slid the fork of the cut branch under a hot rock and dropped it into the water in his hat. Shortly, with his gloved hand he fished that rock out and put it back into the fire, and scooped another one in. In less than a quarter candlemark the water was bubbling, and Flic said, “There is too much. Pour a bit out . . . say, half.”
After Borel had done so, the Sprite dropped a selection of different blossoms into the liquid.
“Stir it, my lord.”
Borel used his forked stick to stir the blossoms ’round and ’round and under. After long moments of doing so, Flic said, “Let me see.”
Borel stopped, and the Sprite stuck in a finger and tasted. “A bit more stirring, Prince.”
Twice more Borel stirred and twice did Flic taste, and at last he said, “Drink it all, Lord Borel, in one gulp if you can.”
The tisane was quite bitter, the heat of the liquid making it even more so, but Borel squinched up his face and swallowed the whole of it.
Borel shuddered with the aftertaste and set the tricorn aside, and Flic grinned at him and said, “Now for the moss and herbs.”
With Flic working on the places Borel could not see or easily reach, they washed his scrapes with the juice of the herbs and smeared a thin film of moss pulp over his bruises. As Borel eased back into his silks and leathers, Flic said, “We’ll do this
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