Nyasha nibbled the last of the flesh around the apple core as she walked back to Dr. Randle’s suite. She did not offer to help Calea, knowing already that it would be rejected, but she listened to the awkward thump and thud of the Jalseian woman crutching along behind her. When they rounded a corner, Calea cursed under her breath, crutch scraping the wall as she executed a ridiculously incompetent turn.
Nyasha, now several lengths ahead, turned around and waited for her. Even new amputees were not usually quite this spectacularly clumsy with their crutches. “Your old prosthetics must have been truly amazing.” She tilted her head, watching Calea move, red-faced and tight-lipped and struggling with every step. “How long has it been since you used a cane or other assistance?”
“I don’t see how that’s your business.” Calea’s teeth were gritted, and sweat was beginning to pop out at her hairline.
“It’s relevant. I need to know how proficient you are with medical aids so I can decide what I need to make or get for you.”
Calea reached her and leaned against the wall for a moment, taking the opportunity to wave her hand in dismissal. “Do the absolute best you can, and I’ll deal with the gaps between your abilities and my needs.”
Nyasha frowned. It would be rude to cross her arms over her chest. She did it anyway. “If I’m going to do this for you, you have to be honest with me, just as you would have to be with any medical professional who was working for you. I promise you the same confidentiality all patients are given at the Sanctuary. Would you like me to fetch the legal forms so we can both sign them?”
Calea looked down her nose at Nyasha, an almost fevered light of incredulity in her eyes. As if she couldn’t believe that this little slip of a peasant girl would dare speak to her like that. “That won’t be necessary. Just do your best, whatever that may be.”
“Of course I will.” Nyasha huffed, singularly unimpressed. “You must do your best for me, too. Including answering my questions.”
“Oh, very well!” Calea took a breath and rolled her eyes mightily, but finally answered. “It has been at least six years since I used any sort of cane, walker, or crutch. I made my own prosthetics. Magic-powered ones. And yes, they were amazing, or at least adequate to my needs. If I knew more about non-powered technology, I would make temporary ones myself. But we were hoping that coming here would be quicker. Anything you’ll be able to provide will be far inferior to my stolen prosthetics, but I will make do.”
Nyasha nodded thoughtfully, absorbing this. “How did you lose your arm and leg?”
“Oh, now, that can’t be relevant.”
Her gaze had been drifting, but at that sharp, acerbic answer Nyasha’s eyes snapped back to Calea’s face. Calea almost flinched. “At least tell me when you lost them then. So I’ll know how long you’ve been developing bad habits and how long it will take to train you out of them.”
It was the rudest she had sounded yet. Nyasha did not quite regret it. Strangely enough, Calea smiled, and for the first time it seemed almost genuine. She didn’t seem aware of it, though. Was she amused at Nyasha’s presumption?
“Very well. Yes. I was eight years old. I fell in Jalseion’s Well, and the magic consumed my arm and my leg. Is that enough information for you, Doctor Cormorin?”
Nyasha turned away, ostensibly to continue leading the way to the suite, though truly she did it to hide the dismay on her face. A number of possibilities had occurred to her on seeing the missing limbs–a carriage accident, a bad fall, infection and subsequent gangrene, or even an incident with magic–but never that one. Calea had fallen directly into a well? How was she not dead? How had she not lost even more?
She shook it off, determined to be professional. Or at least as professional as she could pretend. She paused at the door to Dr. Randle’s rooms and turned to open it for Calea. “In here. We’ll take measurements, and I’ll show you some options. Since you are mechanically minded and these devices will be for you, we will start planning them together.”
It sounded good. Almost professional. Almost like something Dr. Randle would say. Calea nodded, accepting, and thud-thumped her way into the room. Nyasha shut the door behind them and pulled in a few deep, cleansing breaths.
She would deal with it all. She always dealt with it.
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