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Ulysses kicked frantically through the water, his ripped and scarred tale, thrashing at the water uselessly. Blood trailed through the water behind him, pouring from the body of the small white dog, its fur matted by the blood and water.
The Telchin burst through the opening of the glass dome, spraying water out around him and slipping on the wooden floor. The dog’s breathing was shallow, and it trembled terribly in his arms, whining weakly.
“Please, please, please…” Ulysses muttered, rushing into the back room. His kitchen, the place which had felt so warm and inviting suddenly tight and claustrophobic, his own dampness clinging to the air.
The medic laid the dog down on the grass, the blood coating his arms and staining into his shirt.
“Fuck, fuck okay, you’re going to be okay…” Ulysses whined, shaking as he looked down at the tiny, frail dog, his body twitching as it held still, waiting as his thoughts built up, preparing themselves as the instinct came rushing back.
Ulysses scooped Connor up in his arms and raced to the dining table, sweeping away plates and sending them crashing to the floor as he laid the terrier down on the empty surface. He rummaged through cupboards, crabbing whatever he could which might help, pouring bottles of water over the axe wounds he himself had caused. He grabbed a pair of shears and began cutting away at fur, searching for a sign that the wounds weren’t nearly as bad as he feared. He took a bottle of honey from his pockets, one of the many he had gathered, and wiped it across the wounds.
“Honey works as a natural preventative for infection,”
His mentor's voice rang in his ears from beyond the grave, distant and soothing.
“It prevents necrosis from taking hold, and promotes faster, more efficient healing. It can act as a barrier for the damaged tissue too, slowing blood loss. It’s hard to get down here, especially nowadays with surface trade cut off by the drowned, but the shipments we have will keep indefinitely.”
For a while Ulysses had as much honey as he could dream of. If the field hospitals had access to even just the bees he had above him, they never would have needed to ration their supplies again.
Of course, he didn’t have access to those bees anymore either. He couldn’t show his face on the surface again anytime soon. Not after the fight with Rae, or the confrontation with Ocie and Aax. Especially not after hurting Jamie’s dog…
Connor whined on the table, and the sound was so weak it broke Ulysses heart. For a moment he saw Kelpie lying in front of him, the small dog which had shown him so much kindness, which had comforted him so often. Connor had done the same for Jamie, and now he was dying.
He was dying because of Ulysses.
The Telchin rushed out of the room, smearing blood and honey across the walls and cupboards as he desperately began mixing ingredients and brewing potions, his hands trembling more than ever. He couldn’t stitch up the dog's wounds, not cleanly, not like this. Especially not while this panicked. Maybe when he calmed down, if he tried…
It didn’t matter. He would do what he could. He could set the broken bones and wash away the blood, bandaging its chest.
If nothing else, he could make it comfortable as it passed. He wouldn’t let it die alone.
“You’re not going to die.” Ulysses choked out, tears streaming down his face as he washed his hands of potion ingredients, the smell of bubbling nether wart filling the tiny, enclosed glass home. He raced to his bed and began ripping at the sheets, tearing and cutting them down to size, pressing the makeshift gauze to the dog’s shaved skin, stemming the blood flow even further.
None of the dog’s organs seemed to be damaged. Its lungs and stomach were still intact, but its flank was torn open messibly by the blade of the axe, and its bones were visibly broken beneath the ripped muscle. Beneath their hands, Connor growled weakly, twitching away from Ulysses touch.
“I’m sorry.” Ulysses sobbed, the emotion finally seeping into his voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry. But you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna see Jamie again, I promise. You’ll see them again real soon.”
Tentatively, Ulysses reached out a hand, and ran it across Connor’s fur behind his ears, the shivering dog easing into his touch as its unsteady breathing calmed. Connor let out a soft, wheezing bark, which devolved into a pitiful whine.
“If there are any gods left out there,” The medic whispered, closing his eyes as he felt the terrier’s heartbeat weaken beneath his fingers, “Please, don’t let him die…”
“This is going to hurt.” Ulysses breathed, sniffling, “I-I know you can understand me, somewhat, because Jamie talked to you, so I want you to know that I have to do this.”
They didn’t know what kind of response they were expecting from the dog. They didn’t get any. If Connor was still conscious, he didn’t have the strength to give any indication. Ulysses slipped his webbed fingers beneath the dog’s skin, and braced them around the broken ribs, snapping them back into place with a sickening pop. Connor yelped with as much force as the small dog could muster, writhing on the table.
Ulysses squeaked in sympathy, the apologies tumbling incoherently from his lips.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”
There was a soft hissing from the other room, and Uysses scrambled backwards, almost slipping over his own wet footprints as he raced to the brewing stand and snatched up the healing potion, the glass of the bottle burning his hands and filling the room with the smell of burning blood. Ulysses once again threw open one of the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a bowl which he dumped the potion into, sloshing it across the table in his haste.
He pressed the bowl up against Connor’s small, black nose, hoping to coax the animal into drinking.
“Please…” Ulysses muttered, watching as the dog’s breathing slowed further, and its dark eyes stared blankly into the room beyond him. “Please, please…”
Ulysses slipped a hand under the dog's neck, feeling for a pulse as he lifted it. If there was a pulse, they couldn’t feel it beneath the matted fur. He led the dog’s muzzle into the bowl, trying to tip the warm liquid between its lips.
Slowly, weakly, Connor’s tongue slid out from between his teeth, and he lapped at the potion.
The sound that escaped Ulysses lips was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, tears pooling in his eyes. He watched as the flesh around the axe wound, glistening with honey and stained with blood, began to knit itself shut, the bones fusing together. Connor’s neck twitched beneath his fingers, and Ulysses slipped his hand away to allow the dog to drink.
The terrier shifted on the table, whining more eagerly as it lapped at the potion, draining the bowl and pressing its nose against the wood.
“Yes!” Ulysses beamed, running a hand along the animal’s back as it lapped at the empty bowl. “Gods, yes, thank you, thank you .”
Connor slumped back on the table, resting his head, but craning his neck to lick the spilled potion of Ulysses fingers. The Telchin laughed, stroking the dog around the ears.
“Good boy.” He smiled, finally letting his breathing steady as the panic subsided, the issue resolved, at least for now. “Let’s bandage you up, okay? I don’t know how long those potions are going to work…” His voice wavered. Connor bit at his fingers, growling gently. Ulysses took it as a good sign that the dog was alive enough to bite him. “You’ll be healed enough to go home soon, I promise… It’ll just take time.”
The Telchin looked around him at the small space, surrounded by blood and spilled potion and shattered bowls. The room which had once been his kitchen was now a mess. He would have to take much of it out into the water to clean it. In the meantime, he could try and make the place more accommodating to the small dog.
“Let's get you comfortable, okay? Somewhere better to stay for a while than the table…”