Connor and the Wolves - 20. Healing

Khurtschono peered through the brush. His truck’s engine provided a comforting chugging, forever stuck at driving thirty kilometres per hour. Dim headlights kept the gathering gloom of evening at bay. The laws of the Ythin Desert gave a car that was perfect for new drivers to explore with. But here, in the dark woods of Astara, Khurtschono found himself wishing for better. These woods didn’t belong to him. He hadn’t even had a chance to explore as a wolf yet.
There!
Khurtschono turned down a tiny gravel drive, wincing as overgrown branches scratched at his truck. He’d have to explain the damage to his parents. Hopefully they’d understand he was on a mission of mercy.
Weaving around potholes and tiny trees growing through the gravel, he creeped toward a dark cabin. If it wasn’t Soren’s cabin, he was in trouble.
No, it had to be Soren’s cabin. There was the small tree growing in front of his house.
Khurtschono pulled up beside the tree. Grabbing the soup he’d bought after school, he hopped out of the car and hurried to the front door.
His hand hesitated inches from the door. Should he knock? It was the polite thing to do, but what if Soren was sleeping? What if he had a headache? Maybe he should go inside quietly. Surely Soren would forgive him; Khurtschono was trying to help him.
The doorknob twisted easily in his grip. Soren probably never locked it. Who would be trying to break in this far into the woods? There was no one around.
Slipping inside, Khurtschono paused for a second. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. A strand of silver moonlight flowed across the floor, just enough light to avoid any obstacles. The darkness only proved he’d made the right choice — clearly Soren was sleeping. Khurtschono could leave the soup in the kitchen for him.
He ducked into the kitchen. A fishy stench struck him, and Khurtschono wrinkled his nose. The source was immediately obvious; a half-butchered fish sat by the sink with a bowl of offal beside it. Was that… catfish?
A strange feeling flooded through him. He hadn’t thought Soren would take him seriously. Yet the wolf clearly was trying to pay him back for the clothes. No one had ever cooked a meal for him. Skylar and John didn’t count — they cooked for the entire family.
He couldn’t cook around the fish. It didn’t seem the slightest bit sanitary. Setting the bag of soup on the counter, well away from the fish, Khurtschono left the kitchen.
Light filtered under a door — the bathroom door, if Khurtschono remembered correctly. Maybe Soren was awake after all? He tapped on the door, waiting for a reply.
None came.
“Soren?”
Steam flooded from the room when Khurtschono opened the door. Soren lay curled up in the bathtub, his head resting on the side of the tub.
“Soren, are you awake?”
No answer.
Sitting back, Khurtschono grabbed his phone. Soren looked horrible. They needed help, and there was only one person she could think of to give them that help.
“Aav?”
“What’s wrong, Khurtsaa? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m at Soren’s house. He’s not doing very good.” Khurtschono swept his eyes over Soren. “He’s just laying in the bathtub.”
“I’ll grab Altanchono and be there soon,” Khenbish said.
The line went dead. Khurtschono shoved his phone into his pocket, staring at Soren. Soren’s mouth hung open, light snores rumbling from him. Water lapped across brown skin, battling a light sheen of sweat.
“We need to get you dressed,” Khurtschono muttered.
He pulled the plug. Leaving Soren in the bathroom while the water drained, Khurtschono began foraging for clothes.
The bedroom was a mess. Bedding lay all over the floor. A quilt was crumpled where Soren let it fall. The closet hung open, offering a view of all five outfits Soren owned. Seven, if Khurtschono included the two he’d bought the other day. He could smell the dirty clothes laying in the small hamper in the back of the closet — not the worst smell in the world, but Miles smelled better.
Shaking that thought from his mind, Khurtschono grabbed a random set of pants and a shirt and hurried back to the bathroom.
“Come on Soren.” He wrapped a towel around Soren, trying to pull him to his feet. “Need you to wake up for a moment.”
“Kurt?” Soren’s arm shot out, pushing against the wall as he fought for an unsteady balance.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Khurtschono propped Soren against the wall. He let Soren go a moment later. “Here, let's get you dried off.”
Soren wobbled, sliding down the wall. Khurtschono rushed to catch him again, groaning at his weight. Heat enveloped him — Soren was burning up.
“Okay, bad idea….” Tugging Soren back, Khurtschono wrestled him out of the tub before allowing him to slump to the floor. “Fuck, you’re hot….”
“So are you….” Soren muttered.
Fever dreams. It had to be.
Khurtschono wrestled the pants on Soren. Pulling the shirt over his head was a little easier. By the time he’d finished, Soren was snoring again.
“Khurtsaa?”
“In here!” Khurtschono called quietly.
Someone thumped into something, and he heard a muffled complaint from Altanchono. Khurtschono bit back a snort — even after the weekend, Altanchono refused to be careful. What would it take to slow him down?
Khenbish stepped into the bathroom. Practiced eyes took in the situation, and his calm demeanor instantly soothed Khurtschono.
“Has he been unconscious the whole time?” Khenbish demanded, pulling on a mask.
“No, he’s been in and out.”
“Any coughing or wheezing?”
“No Aav.”
Khenbish knelt beside Soren, pressing an ear to his chest. He sat up a moment later.
“He’s okay. Feverish, but he’ll get through it. Let’s get him into bed.” Khenbish turned to Altanchono. “Altanaa, go ask Catherine for some amecelex; it should bring his fever down.”
“Shouldn’t we take him to our house?” Altanchono asked.
“Yeah, what if he gets worse?” Khurtschono added. “We can take care of him better there.”
“The truck’s out front, so we wouldn’t even have to carry him.”
Khenbish chuckled quietly. He set his hands on Khurtschono’s and Altanchono’s shoulders.
“I’m proud of both of you. You’ll have to give up your room for him, though. I don’t want either of you getting sick.” Kneeling beside Soren, the black Ythin shook him lightly. “But before we kidnap someone in the name of good health, we need to make sure Soren wants our help.”
Soren groaned. His eyes fluttered open, flicking between Khurtschono and Khenbish.
“Hey Soren, can you hear me?”
“Yeah….”
“I’m Doctor Khenbish, Khurtschono and Altanchono’s father. We want to take you to our house so we can help you get better. Is that okay?”
Soren shivered, leaning against the tub. He nodded, his head rolling with the motion.
“Okay, let’s get you up then.” Khenbish set Soren’s arm around his shoulders. “We’ll have you in a nice warm bed in no time.”

A match flared. Khurtschono leaned forward, letting the flames lick over kindling. It took a moment for the fire to catch, but soon the fireplace burned with a cheerful warmth.
“Water from the river,” Khenbish said, setting a small kettle on a hook over the flames. “We must ask the spirit of fire to purify the healing waters.”
“Do you think the spirits know about germs?” Khurtschono asked, watching the fire burn.
“I think the spirits guided our ancestors in their journeys of discovery,” Khenbish replied. “The spirit of fire asks us, what if? What if we put meat in the flames? It tastes good. What else gets better with fire? The spirit of water says, perhaps we can warm water up. It feels good to clean with. The spirit of the mare says, perhaps tsai would be good. Mix my milk with the water and the gifts from the plants. So we do, and it is good.” He sat back as the firelight flickered across his dark face. “I believe there is a reason behind that. Perhaps the spirits learn with us. They knew some things are dangerous, but now they know why, because the spirit of the nekos showed them.”
The kettle hissed loudly, and Khurtschono poked at a lever, opening the spout. Steam poured from the spout, mixing with the smoke from the fire. A minute passed before Khenbish let him remove the water from the fire.
“And now we ask the ginger root to aid your friend in his fight for health.”
They headed into the kitchen, where Catherine and Altanchono were hard at work making soup for Soren. Khenbish passed a root to Khurtschono. Grabbing a knife, Khurtschono cut off a small piece, chopping it into tiny slivers. He scraped it into a drinking bowl, and Khenbish poured the boiling water over the root.
“A twist of lemon and a spoonful of honey will make that go down a lot easier,” Catherine said, ladling soup into another bowl. “There are some slices in the crisper.”
Khurtschono squeezed a lemon slice into the tea before drizzling some honey over the top. He mixed the water a bit and licked the spoon. Face puckering, he nodded.
“Yeah, I think he’ll like it.”
Tossing the spoon into the sink, Khurtschono passed the bowl to Altanchono.
“You’re first. The soup needs to cool down.”
“One person in the room at a time, and make sure you wear your mask,” Khenbish added as Altanchono grabbed the tea. “We want to reduce the risk of you two getting sick. Khurtsaa, why don’t you go practice until Altanchono is done?”
“Oh yeah! I bet Soren would love hearing the morin khuur!”
Darting from the kitchen, Khurtschono burst into the practice room. He skidded to a halt beside the stands — his viola was missing, still out in the truck. He’d bring it inside before bed.
No, he needed to bring it in now. Waiting would just give him more time to forget again. Sighing, Khurtschono hurried out to the truck. He returned to the practice room a minute later with the viola, setting it carefully beside the morin khuur. Grabbing the morin khuur, Khurtschono turned toward the door, only to be stopped by Khenbish.
“You know the rules. Instruments stay in the practice room,” the dark neko scolded.
“But Soren can’t hear me from here.”
“I’m pretty sure he can,” Khenbish said, shooing Khurtschono back into the room. “Even if he can’t, the house hears.”
Khurtschono frowned at Khenbish’s words. A moment later, his eyes lit up with understanding.
Settling into a chair, Khurtschono clipped his earbuds in. Finding the right song was simple enough. It had been a while since he’d played this song; the last time was when a horse broke John’s foot. But his hands still remembered the right notes.
A purr filled the room. Guiding the bow across the horsehair strings, Khurtschono closed his eyes. The first strokes were hesitant; they always were, but his fears of hitting a wrong note were doubled with Khenbish watching.
His fingers pulled at the strings, creating a dualistic hum that mirrored the tone in his ears perfectly. Each note he played only stoked his courage more. Khurtschono quickly fell into the music, letting it sweep him away to the grassy fields outside King’s Crossing, where herds of horses roamed free and the spirits ruled.
Khenbish’s voice rose above the fiddle, a deep thrum that filled the room and echoed the words missing from Khurtschono’s music. Warmth flooded Khurtschono, and he swayed with the music as it took him mind, body, and soul. If this didn’t help Soren feel better, Khurtschono didn’t know what would.
Though the medicine Khenbish gave Soren would probably help.
Khurtschono opened his eyes as the song ended. Setting his bow aside, he jumped as Catherine cleared her throat by the door.
“Altanchono’s finished,” she said.
“And so are we,” Khenbish added.
Khurtschono was already placing the morin khuur back on its stand. He hurried from the room, grabbing the bowl of soup from the kitchen. Soren needed to eat.

“You need to eat something.”
Soren groaned, swaying as he sat up. Sweat plastered his hair to his face, and Khurtschono plucked a strand away from his glassy eyes.
Scooting him back against the wall so he could prop himself up, Khurtschono waited for Soren to be at least somewhat comfortable before plucking out a piece of chicken with his savkh. He held the soup under the chicken as he moved it toward Soren, making sure none of it dripped on his bed.
“I can hold it…” Soren muttered, knocking his hand against the bowl.
“You can barely see it,” Khurtschono denied, fighting to keep the bowl steady. “Just focus on chewing. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Bit by bit, he fed the soup to Soren, making sure he swallowed every bite. Once the meat and vegetables were gone, Soren tipped the bowl into his mouth to slurp up the broth.
Khurtschono set the bowl aside. Pulling the comforter up to Soren’s chin, he made sure the human was properly tucked in.
“Now get some sleep. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”
Soren muttered something unintelligible, his eyes fluttering.
Gathering the bowl, Khurtschono crept from the room. Catherine took the bowl from him and shooed him toward the laundry room.
“Bedtime. Altanchono’s already heading out to the barn. John’s going to wake you in the morning so you can get your chores done. And you two better not disturb the horses,” Catherine added.
“I won’t,” Khurtschono promised.
He ducked into the changing room by the back door. Tossing his clothes into a hamper, he shifted and headed outside. A quick roll helped him stretch out, and Khurtschono trotted out to the barn.
Altanchono was already curled up in a stall well away from the horses. Taking the stall across from him, Khurtschono let out a quiet woof. He stretched out again as Altanchono huffed back.
A strong wind carried the promise of a cold night. Khurtschono settled into the back of the stall, keeping away from the breeze. He could endure the cold without much problem — his fur was great for that. All that mattered was that Soren was safe and comfortable.