Later, much later, Nyasha was embarrassed by that outburst. It had never been her practice to dwell much on things that disturbed her, though, so she chose to dismiss the incident from her mind. She had been a bit bothered by the whole thing, that was all, but now it was over and she was fine.
She had had plenty of water, a satisfying if light meal (“Not too much just at first or you’ll be sick,” Dr. Burdock had said), a brief wash, and a long nap in one of the empty dormitories. Now, as she roused herself from slumber, the sun outside the window was lowering. She felt much better. Her legs no longer wavered beneath her. And her stomach was growling.
Dr. Burdock had stored food in the common room in the clinic. Nyasha made her way there, stepping lightly between the buildings of the Sanctuary’s campus, reveling in the freedom to move as she wished. Maybe tomorrow she would run, just dash out onto the street and go as far and as quickly as her legs would take her, until her body was exhausted and stopped of its own accord. Right now, though, a meal was more appealing.
In the common room, Nyasha found bread, stale but still edible; a wrinkled apple from the last harvest; and a chunk of strong cheese. Then, still chewing, her hands full of food, she moved toward the front of the clinic. The others had to be around here somewhere. Her footsteps slowed when she heard voices. They sounded like they were coming from the entranceway.
“We must give the girl some time to recover.” That was Bron’s voice, deep and solid and sure.
“Time, time, always time.” A voice Nyasha didn’t recognize, female and strident. “The whole world is suffering. Am I the only one who understands that sometimes you must continue moving forward no matter how you ache?”
Bron grunted.
There was a small moment of silence, then the woman spoke again, slightly softer. “I know you understand that. You’ve proved that, if nothing else, since this disaster began.”
“I know how badly you want this. Need this,” Bron said. “But I also saw her house, and I saw her shaking. We must give her time. When she’s ready, I’m sure she’ll be glad to help us.”
Nyasha stepped out of the hallway, into the light from the front windows. “What can I do?”
After a brief hesitation, Bron stood to face her, but the young woman remained sitting on one of the benches they kept in the entranceway. A crutch leaned on the wall beside her, and she was missing an arm and a leg. Nyasha glanced over her quickly, then looked into Bron’s face, expectant.
“You’re looking much better, Nyasha,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“All but perfect.” She rolled the wrinkled apple in her fingers, making it dance, then took a hearty bite. “What can I do for you?” Apple juice and flavor made a pleasant mouthful. Her mama would call her rude for talking while chewing, but Nyasha felt no compulsion to be polite to these people. Bron had saved her life, bypassing all the usual social rules, and the other one… “That’s why you came to my house, wasn’t it? You wanted help. Tell me what you need.”
The young woman twisted her lips, staring at Nyasha with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Challenging, haughty. The woman raised her eyebrows, and Nyasha understood. Ah. She thought Nyasha was stupid.
“It’s about you, isn’t it?” Nyasha swallowed her bite and took another, then gestured at the woman’s missing limbs with her half-eaten apple. “You need prosthetics. You’re a Jalseian. You’re rich. You must have had very fine ones. What happened to them?”
“They were stolen,” Bron said, with an aborted move, swaying toward her, then holding still again. As if he had started to step between them, then held himself back. Trying to protect Nyasha? Or the other one?
Instead Bron turned sideways, making it into a three-cornered conversation, each of them at a point of a tilted triangle. He gestured, introducing. “Nyasha, this is Calea Lisan, a Guide from Jalseion and one of the finest scientific minds of her generation. Calea, this is Nyasha Cormorin, a young lady of great skills, as you remember Dr. Burdock telling us.”
“So formal.” Calea’s lip curled. “I am a Guide no longer. Nyasha, you spoke truly. I need new prosthetics. We were…hoping…you could help us. Dr. Burdock spoke very highly of you.”
Nyasha watched her, chewing thoughtfully. Calea’s was a voice accustomed to command. She wanted to order Nyasha to help her, but instead she was trying to ask. Not quite politely, but trying. Perhaps there was hope for her yet.
She nodded decisively and took another bite of her apple. “Of course I will. Let’s begin at once.”
Calea immediately shifted on the bench, grabbing the crutch with her one hand and using it to haul herself up. Bron, though, frowned. “Are you sure? You must still be very weary from your ordeal.”
“I want to work,” Nyasha retorted, then shook her head and leaned back on her heels, surprised at the anger rising up in her voice and making it “peppery,” as her papa called it. Why should she be angry? It was a perfectly reasonable question. “I’m fine,” she said again, more calmly. “I like working. I’ve done many handy jobs around the clinic, as well as helped the doctors and nurses. I’m good with devices. Dr. Burdock would be perfectly useless trying to make prosthetics, and the others won’t be back for who knows how long.”
“I’m convinced,” Calea said, and she nodded toward the back of the clinic. “Lead the way.” Nyasha turned on her heel. “Stay here, Bron,” Calea said behind her, stumping forward on the crutch.
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