Deglan squinted at the split flesh, hoping to see some change for the better. More of a rend then a cut, the plow blade had done some vicious work, to the muscles most of all. They were not only torn and slashed, but pulled mercilessly out of place. It had taken the farmers too long to stop the spooked ox and Faabar had been drug over several fields. Deglan had arrived quickly thanks to Bulge-Eye. He had the blood stopped and the wound bound within moments. It had taken six of the strongest men to lift Faabar, but they managed him into an ox cart and transported him to his hut within an hour where Deglan began cleaning the manure-filled soil out of the cavity. He had done everything he knew to do and more, using all the knowledge of his craft, learned over centuries of study and practice. It should have been enough. But the plow blade had been iron. Deglan wanted to spit.

The wound refused to close, despite all his efforts. It remained gaping, taunting him like some horrible smile with skin for lips, muscles for gums and bones for teeth. Had Faabar been pure Fae, he would have died in the field, but the fomori were mortal once before receiving Magic’s blessing and that kept him alive. Alive and suffering. Blessing, indeed. This was not the deserved fate of a warrior, of one who had seen Summer. Humans and their iron. Their soft minds and hard metals.

“That dwarf is back in the village,” Deglan said casually, returning his mind to his work. Faabar continued staring at the ceiling, but Deglan felt his body tense.

“With the mule?”

Deglan snorted. “No, with a herd of field mice! Yes, with the mule!”

“And my sword?”

“Well, we were having a dozen pints of ale and I planned on asking him. But then… I don’t know if it was the drink that got to me or the injury I had to look in on….” He shook his head in mock bewilderment then threw up his arms. “Something made me forget to ask him!”

“Ask him. When you see him, ask him. I would like to see it.”

“Toad shit! Ask him yourself.” Deglan threw the discarded plaster into the fire.

“You cannot…,” Faabar began.