“Help me get her settled comfortably before she wakes and suffers more pain from us moving her,” Willow said and Slatter didn’t hesitate to help.

When they finished, Slatter sat beside his grandmother on the bed, holding her hand while Willow went through her healing pouch to see what she had left.

“What’s wrong?” Slatter asked, catching the troubled look on his wife’s face.

“I have less than I thought to help your grandmother. I gave most of what I had to Roanna for Erna and to Crofton for his grandmother. Sara needs more than I have to help her heal and her healing is going to take time. She will need attention and care, and she is not safe here. What if the culprit returns?”

“I have thought the same myself, though what I can’t understand is why someone would do this to her.” He shook his head.

“Something else bothers you,” Willow said, seeing the troubling look in his dark eyes.

Slatter looked down at his grandmother, sleeping peacefully, and though he should be relieved, he wasn’t. She was far too pale and looked more like death had claimed her than healing sleep.

He turned to his wife. “As you see for yourself, my grandmother is a wee bit of a thing. She couldn’t defend herself against a warrior let alone one with a weapon.” He chuckled. “Not that she wouldn’t try. She’s a feisty one.”

Willow heard not only the pride he had for his grandmother but the obvious love he had for her.

“So why two wounds? Why not one wound that would end her life? Unless…” He let his words drift off and let his thoughts simmer before speaking again. “Unless there was something he had wanted from her. The wounds weren’t meant to kill. They were intended to make her surrender whatever it was this person wanted. But what?” He scanned the small room. “Nothing looks to have been touched and she has nothing of worth.”

“Your grandmother can tell you all as soon as she wakes.”

“Will she wake?” Slatter asked.

“I wish I could tell you she will do well, but I honestly don’t know. She has grown warmer to the touch from when I first felt her brow and I don’t have enough of the leaves to brew what she needs, or clean cloth to dress her wounds properly.”

“Could she survive the two-day journey to your home?” he asked, his glance going to his grandmother. “I could fashion a carrier for the horse to pull. We could bundle her in blankets.”

“It wouldn’t be wise to drag her through the snow. She needs rest. Let’s see how she fairs in a day or two.”

Willow got busy preparing a brew from the few leaves she did have, hoping it was enough to help until they could get more. When she finished, she searched the small room for food and found some root vegetables stored in a basket. They would be enough to make a soup, one that would serve the old woman well.