In all his life, Déodat had never ventured so far from home and had certainly never endured such a journey. The perils and dangers he had faced over the winter were too numerous and frequent to recall, as if the wind had blurred them from existence. Though the though was not a comforting one, his body had coped as well as it could for such little vegetation during his journey. He did not feel pride, or any other sense of emotion in regard to his survival of the last battle of the Clans. Survival meant nothing if achieved alone.
He only felt great weariness.
He'd found the spring mid afternoon, and had been wading in the water ever since, blowing his own bubbles with childish glee (when none were near, of course) in addition to the gurgling spring. The wounds lashed across his back and chest from the war had not yet healed, even though they were covered with damp scabs. The gashes emitted a foul, decaying smell and oozed a thick substance that reminded him of tree sap. Not to mention he smelled like rancid farts, thanks to the sulfurous stench of the springs. Disgusting. He was no healer, but he had enough sense to know that his wounds were infected. Perhaps he should make and appointment with d'Artagnan, the doctor, he thought snidely to himself.
But of course, his manly pride simply wouldn't allow it.
The relief and joy of seeing family again had long since faded. It had been foolish of him to dare hope d'Artagnan would welcome him with open arms, for the ex-warrior—now doctor, Déodat corrected himself—did not value family and comradeship such as Déodat did, but that was to be expected. In the Clans, deep family feuds were not healed with time—they were healed with swift and terrible vengeance. The two cousins resembled each other fiercely with their shared likeness of the roaring fire in their hearts and pig-headed stubbornness, and perhaps that is why it seemed they were simply destined to clash and banter and fight all their lives, despite now calling the same place home.
Smiling vaguely to himself, Déodat wouldn't prefer it any other way.
His smile was quickly replaced by a grimace of pain, as the expression cracked the scabbed wounds across the bridge of his nose. He settled deeper into the hot spring water, enjoying the warmth cleansing his skin and soaking into the depths of his aching bones. He blew a few more bubbles, and was soothed by the bizarre tickling sensation in his nose.
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