Threading the Needle by Joshua Palmatier

the exposed wound, Morrell pulling the wet cloth back.
    The healer’s grim expression collapsed into confusion and Morrell’s heart sank. “What did you do?” He shoved Morrell aside.
    â€œN—nothing. I removed the bandage. Then worked as much of the pus out as possible. More came out than I expected, and it wasn’t all yellow-green. It was brown at the end. And then it started bleeding.”
    Logan was pressing against the edges of the wound, persistent, making small noises beneath his breath.
    Finally he sat back, hands dropping to his thighs, his gaze lingering on the wound before flicking toward Claye’s face, then Morrell’s.
    â€œI don’t know how it happened, but the infection is gone.”
    â€œThat’s good, isn’t it?” Claye asked.
    Logan was staring at Morrell. “Yes. Yes, it is good. I didn’t think the poultices and salves I was using were working, but apparently I was wrong.”
    The statement hung in the air. Morrell returned his penetrating look with what she hoped was a wide-eyed, innocent expression.
    More blood trickled down Claye’s side, pooling on the already pus- and blood-stained bandage beneath. Logan reached for one of the new bandages Morrell had brought, using it to clean up, suddenly all business.
    â€œI think I can safely close the wound now. Morrell, fetch me my needle and some thread. Sterilize the needle. I don’t want the infection to return.”
    Morrell leaped up from her stool, Logan taking her place. She rushed into the outer room, grabbed a needle and thread, then held the needle in a candle flame. When she ducked back into the room, Logan had already prepped Claye’s side. The healer took the needle and thread and began working, Claye hissing each time Logan passed the needle through flesh.
    â€œFind Sophia, Morrell. She’ll want an update.”
    Morrell backed out of the room. She hesitated in the doorway until Claye yelped and cursed, Logan apologizing without pausing. Then she turned and fled.
    The sunlight blinded her again as she raced across the street, between the buildings of the Hollow, and down to the creek. She fell to her knees in the mud along the bank and dunked her hands into the frigid water, scrubbing away what little pus and blood remained. Then she continued scrubbing, until her hands were raw. Her breath quickened as she thought about the prickling sensation in her fingers, about the shimmer of light she’d seen after she’d withdrawn her hands from the wound. She’d seen the vivid colors before. They reminded her of the terrifying auroral lights that had plagued Erenthrall and the surrounding plains since the Shattering.
    She clutched her hands to her chest, hunched forward over them. When a hand fell onto her shoulder she screamed and slipped on the slick stones of the creek’s bank, half tumbling into the frigid water.
    â€œMorrell, it’s me! Cory!”
    Morrell scrambled backward on the bank a few more steps beforethe words registered, then blinked up into the sunlight until she picked out Cory. He had his hands spread out toward her, as if trying to placate a spooked animal.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    He straightened slightly, hands lowering. “You should probably get out of the water then. You’ll catch a chill.”
    She realized she was leaning on her elbow, left arm submerged, side soaked. Her arm was already numb.
    She rolled out of the water, Cory helping her up onto the bank again.
    â€œA few scrapes, but nothing serious,” Cory muttered, checking out her arm. He paused when he realized her hands had been scrubbed raw.
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œIt doesn’t look like it.”
    â€œI’m fine. It’s just . . .” She waved her hand, tears threatening.
    Cory glanced away. “I’ve been struggling, too. I’m worried. For all of them.” He turned back.