Ravenwood(93)

“We best get him to the house. I can treat him there,” Mrs. Davenport said and Jonah nodded.

“It would be best to carry him. We’ll need some kind of sling or stretcher.”

Elinore tipped her head up to see Mrs. Thistlewaite’s face in the open hatch above. “Mrs. Thistlewaite? Could you get us some of the horses’ blankets?” Elinore turned to Jonah, “Will that be sufficient, to carry him up the ladder?”

Jonah nodded. “Yes, miss. But we needn’t get him up.” At Elinore’s confused look, he continued, his head nodding toward the darker area still beyond her small circle of light. “This is an access point to the tunnels that run beneath Ravenwood and empty out into passageways in the house. He came here because he was trying to make it home. To his den.”

Elinore swallowed, wondering how long Caleb had been here, so close to her at Ravenwood, in pain and unable to go any further.

The men managed to get Caleb, still as a wolf, onto one of the blankets, carrying it like a hammock. As they jostled him a pained whined escaped from his jaws, and Elinore darted forward, smoothing her fingers over his muzzle and ears. Caleb blinked up at her drowsily, still so recognizable to her, even in his four-legged state. Mrs. Davenport led the way through the dark tunnels, away from the stables to the manor. The air was cold, but surprisingly fresh for something so deep underground. The walls were damp and Elinore trailed her fingers against them as they went, two claws still extended on her hand. Mrs. Thistlewaite nodded firmly and Elinore quirked her head in question.

“You’re scenting the tunnels,” Mrs. Thistlewaite said, looking to Elinore’s claws and back again. “Running your fingers along them. Leaving your mark. So that if other wolves travel down here, they know the tunnels belong to you.”

Elinore hadn’t known that’s what she was doing, but hearing Mrs. Thistlewaite articulate it, it felt right. She kept her fingers pressed lightly against the walls as they continued to press forward. She could feel once they were underneath the house, the familiar presence of the manor pressing down on her - a welcome and wanted weight. She exhaled in relief once she saw a set of stairs, knowing they were well within the manor now. They came out in the cellar, far beneath the kitchen and worked their way up old, but solid steps, through the main floor, and finally upstairs to Caleb’s room. Mrs. Davenport rushed off once in the house to grab her medicines and ‘kit.’ Though Elinore didn’t know exactly what she meant, she rather suspected the housekeeper had quite the medical arsenal at her disposal. Sure enough, by the time the men set Caleb down in his own bed, Mrs. Davenport was back with small satchels, bowls and vials, setting her wares up on the nightstand. Elinore felt like a fairy-tale maiden, wringing her hands as she stood in the corner and watched. The men had to hold Caleb down as Mrs. Davenport washed his wounds and at Elinore’s pained gasp, Mrs. Thistlewaite led her out of the room to the hall.

Elinore’s ears were still sensitive to noise and she swore she heard the very sound of the sinew Mrs. Davenport used as it was threaded through Caleb’s flesh and then pulled his wounds shut. Her noise twitched as she smelled herbs and spices mixed and then applied to prevent infection. She then heard the painful, awful sounds of transformation - shifting bone, muscle and skin and then a long, relieved, yet pained, exhale. The sound of human lungs breathing. Elinore realized Mrs. Thistlewaite was watching her. No doubt she wore a tense expression on her face.

“He’s… shifted. He’s human now.”

Mrs. Thistlewaite was relieved by the news. “That’s good to hear. He’ll heal faster as a human and if he can still shift it means he’s not mortally wounded.”

Elinore took comfort in her words and wondered yet again if she would turn tonight, during the full moon. She gripped her arm, where she’d been bitten. The wounds no longer pained her, though she still had the black lines spreading far up her arm and across her chest. She needed to turn. She would be in far better a position to defend Ravenwood. Her home. Her den. At least, she hoped she would be able to defend Ravenwood. Caleb was a wolf and something awful had happened to him. Though she’d not yet heard it from him directly, Elinore feared she knew exactly what, or rather ‘who’ had happened to Caleb.

Hayter.

It seemed interminably later that Mrs. Davenport and the men came out of Caleb’s room. Elinore tried not to stare at Mrs. Davenport’s hands, covered in blood, even as she wiped them on a rag.

“He’s taken some awful wounds, but I daresay, he shall heal.”

“Before nightfall? Before moonrise?” Mrs. Thistlewaite asked, her voice tight. Elinore found herself waiting for the answer just as anxiously.

Mrs. Davenport pressed her lips together tightly. “I do not know.” She turned to Elinore, her face going slightly softer and warmer. “He’s asked to see you, dear.”

Elinore nodded. “Of course. Yes. Of course.” She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair and skirts - a nervous gesture that did no good since she was quite disarrayed and covered in dirt from the stable and Caleb’s own blood, but it gave her the precious seconds she felt she needed to collect herself.

Entering the room, she took one last moment to stall for time, turning and closing the door securely behind her, instead of simply pushing it shut. Inhaling another deep breath, she could smell more strongly now the metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of the Mrs. Davenport’s herbs. Elinore focused on the floorboards beneath her feet as she walked, afraid, she supposed, of what she would see if she looked up. She made it to the bed, saw the feet of the chair next to it and managed to set herself down in it primly. Finally, slowly she raised her eyes to the form on the bed.