Maggie leans in to see the wound, recoiling only slightly from the putrescent stench. She reaches to put a cool, comforting hand on the lad’s bare back.

“Aye, Jim, ‘tis good Doctor’s here t’see to this wound. It needs a drawin’ poultice t’suck out th’ poison, I wot. We need you t’get  strong and well.

“Mercy an’ me b’lieve that Nathan Fox never killed Polly. ‘Twas another goin’ about in his guise, p’raps a revenant of some Fox ancestor. You need to lend us help in settlin’ that foul thing. A blessin’ it is that you didn’t kill th’ Squire.

“You understand me, Jim Stone? No time to be shirk in’ man. We’ve a mighty task ahead of us.”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:26, Sat 19 Aug 2023.

With the temporary binding off, it's clear that there are pockets of infection about the wound, the skin an angry pink and seeping. The pus is likely worse above than below, though Martin knows with as close to certainty as he could get by lantern light that there's no dirt or cloth still in there. Jim just tenses under Maggie's hand, his skin hot.

"Hhh^hh," is all he can manage, though it trails up into a sore whine like the start of tears as he sinks his head into his hands, more in him to say than he can express. No sobs follow, simply the stillness of a youth holding his breath, pressing the force of full lungs against whatever ache lies in his chest.


[[optional Spot Hidden, if you'd like.]]

"No shame in grief shown, Jim."

Margaret Yendale rolled 67 for Spot Hidden 35.

The Doctor frowns slightly, but says nothing at first as Maggie places her hand on Jim's flesh. After her words though he speaks "Yes, a poultice perhaps Miss Yendale, but there is too much within the wound to let that take its time. If you will excuse me, I need to drain the worst of it with more mechanical means first." and he goes to work on the wound.

As he does this he asks Jim "Tell me lad, what made, indeed perhaps still makes you so sure that the Squire is the one who killed Polly?"

Aside from a small grunt at the first intrusion of cold implement into flesh, Jim just sits bent and trembles slightly with pent and feverish energy. At length it becomes clear he's actually been trying hard to speak, but all that makes it out is a harsh whispered: "..obin."

---

Fetched at a nod cast from the Doctor to Polzeath, Robin timidly makes it into the room, where the question is explained to him. Understanding crosses his features and he crouches between Martin and his sister a little way back from the action. "...last night, sir, he told Master he'd seen the Squire weighing a cat, an' he thought cats about the place had been drugged. That's how he might be two places at once, as it seemed, Jim thought, if the men was drugged, sir. John from the stables said he'd seen the weighing and it was no more than wasting time whilst Squire Fox was avoiden his letters, nor that he dint think the Squire had any reason to hurt Mistress Durbin if he knew any more of her than to tip hat to 'er." Robin fidgets, not looking at the nasty mix of pus and dead brown blood through yellowed tissue fluid being mopped out of his friend's wound.

"John Ragge demanded any type of reason, since Jim's...he's under promise, to Polly, n' whatever reason he thinks Fox done it for, it might get too close to telling that. Jim said the type of reason was making things right, or because Squire loves Miss..es Fox, sir, which you can see he does do. That was as close as he could speak of, but he says he didn't do it himself, nor Master Bees didn't do it, and he didn't know of anyone who went missing before to ransom the old Fox out of the Wood. My father-" he glances up at Maggie "-our Dad went in years back, but that didn't cause trouble like we've got now, 'less Old Fox has been creepen about for years. Sir."

Robin looks at Jim and takes a deep breath, almost as though to hold it in sympathy. "It's not his fault, sir, as he can't always talk...his brain gets full just from being in the world. He...would like me to say he don't mean impertinence, an' he's not without shame over it, only if he tries it won't come out human. He's just that upset he can't do it, sir."

Maggie pats Jim gently on the back, for encouragement. She also smiles at Robin, even though her brother is intent on his friend and unlikely to notice sisterly approbation.

Jim isn't breathing as he should, though Martin finds it easy enough to pause whenever the youth stops holding his breath. Robin doesn't quite catch the smile, but does note he's been looked at, and supplies: "If y'want to ask him on somethen, I can likely guess well enough what he means, like with Runt."

Jim makes a slight turn of the head towards Robin, not enough to turn or look at him. Robin picks that up easily enough: "Oh...right now he's meaning like Runt, could y'stroke his head. Back's...confusing?" Robin sounds more uncertain of the word than the sentiment, trying to express a feeling he hasn't observed in everyone, but knows he shares with the older, stranger boy.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:48, Sun 03 Sept 2023.

Maggie takes her hand away from the young man's flesh.

"Oh! I beg pardon Jim Stone, only meant to comfort." She leaves unsaid that it's what she'd do to calm a nervous animal. She begins to stroke the top of his head instead, as suggested.

"There now. Doctor will be done soon an' you'll feel better directly.

"So, if I understand aright, Jim, you think it was Nathan Fox killed Polly when he thought to marry. But if some other can take on his likeness, then will ye accept that Nathan himself is not guilty of that crime?"

Jim's shoulders visibly relax as Maggie shifts her fussing to his hair rather than cool hand to hot skin. Gradually he starts to breathe in a more normal fashion, though still extremely subdued and unwilling or unable to express any more grief for his friend or his failure. The Doctor has come down to clean red blood in his checking, and Polzeath takes the bleeding bowl with the worst of the mess away as his master makes use of herbed vinegar and spirits of wine.

Maggie's question gets a tiny frustrated grunt; Robin takes up the less literal sticking-point.

"As he was saying last night, he knows of no-one gone an' no way for Old Fox to be out of the Wood before...or if the Old Fox was, what his motives would be that he'd be about so long and only kill Polly, in particular."

"hnh."

"...and he thinks our Fox does have motives, even if he can't say what those are. He believes you that the Wood-thing can look like our Fox, and that it killed poor Widow Sawyer, just...not that it killed Polly. Though he..." Robin hesitates in reading his friend's posture, knowing the pain he's pressing on. "...won't question if God wants our Fox alive, though it might be just that he's sold his soul to the Enemy? I think is his thought. So'e couldn't shoot the Squire. Without some clear sign for due vengeance, he'll give it up."

Jim squeezes his eyes shut, hard, nodding to Robin's translation: "He wishes our Fox had shot him, though."

Maggie sighs deeply.

"Aye, Jim, heart pain can seem worse'n death. But it ain't. May be it don't cease, yet it abates bye-an-bye. Ye must look for some new heart joy t'ease you, though ye never forget. Where's Life is Hope, Jim. Cling to it, I beg of ye."

She looks over to what Doctor is doing. "And how is it by Jim's wound, Sir? Do ye expect that he'll heal soundly?"

The doctor has been silently considering all that has been said, but speaks now trying to give Jim some peace of mind, but doubting it will work "Things change Jim. Just because a thing is like it for some time does not mean it will stay that way."

"Look at us and the French, we can be at peace with them for years, then for some reason we simple folk never know we are at war with them for just as many."

"And this thing that is taking people's likeness, it seems to be able to take any. Knowing this, would.. he stops, thinking better off what he was about to say given the audience.

"Strange things are occurring, things I would not have believed a few days ago, but have witnessed. Though other things I know and believe remain true despite this. I know that the real Squire is afraid of and holds no love for what did kill Poly and believes that it has evil desires on... more than her, on those the Squire loves and holds dear."

"Please believe me when I tell you, the Squire has his own selfish reasons to want it found and punished, and will likely need strong brave people to help in the hunt for it, so you rest and build up your strength ready to help bring the real evil to justice."

He turns to Maggie "His.. physical wounds should heal."

"There, that's welcome news and from a gentleman you can trust, Jim Stone." She tousles his hair much as she might Robin's.

She steps back from Jim and turns her gaze on Doctor, eyes shining.

"Thank you, Doctor, for all ye do in Scorch Norton. We're beholden to ye."

Jim falls onto his good side once released and lies there, sometimes shivering with fever. The only indication he's been listening at all comes when he suddenly makes shift to speak, surprising even himself: "Devil don't serve, 'less..sss.."

"...he can be master," Robin finishes the proverb, though puzzled and concerned as to its relevance. Polzeath quietly returns from his disposal of the curdled humours, breathing more easily now the worst of the stench is gone. Just as he's closing the door there comes the distant untimely sounding of the church bell, its urgent toll a summons to the entire parish to attend some fire, flood, or other dire emergency presently afoot:

  {{BONG}}

                   {{BONG}}                          {{BONG}}

                                   {{BONG}}


The Doctor and Maggie both feel the sound like a tug on harness felt in the vague area of chest and throat, along with a surge of alertness at the village in need. Polzeath looks to his master with alarm.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:34, Wed 13 Sept 2023.

“We’d best make shift t’bring Jim along,” says Maggie, tucking the blanket tightly around the shivering man, “Lest there be no coming back for him.” Maggie takes hold of the head of the bed, gesturing for Polzeath and Robin to take the foot between them.

Jim tries to curl into a ball, failing to process another layer of multiple unknown interactions. Robin seems similarly thrown, standing up and backing to get out of the way.

"But Maggie, there's the danger, not by here, else we'd know first..."

"I'll carry him down to yours, sir, if y'think he needs moved and won't walk," Polzeath offers, though Martin knows that his servant would rather be at his side to aid casualties and defend him, all the more so after last night.

There's a knock on the little chamber door and the voice of the elder James Stone from without: "...Doctor? Jim? We're all away to see to this save Mum and Granny. Jim, if Doctor says you comen would make that wound worse, stay ye here."

Maggie looks to Doctor to resolve the situation.

"He should rest, not get dragged into who knows what. And he should be safe enough here, it is all resolved as far as the Squire is concerned and who is going to go against that?"

He looks at Maggie and then add "If your concern is not the villagers, then what difference here or there?" then more generally "I have no fear it will occur here tonight, but if at any time in the future the dark waters come again, then spirits and vinegar, spices too perhaps were effective at drawing it from Polzeath's wound, so they should be as effective at keeping it at bay."

He heads for the exit "Polzeath, I may well need you, come along. Maggie, I understand if you would rather stay here." he adds silently hoping she says yes, that he will at least not have to worry about her safety, but thinking that a vain hope.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:25, Tue 19 Sept 2023.

Maggie hesitates a moment. She's used to hearing the tocsin bell as a threat of natural danger, fire or flood. If it is a summons to battle uncanny forces, then it is best to leave poor Jim out of it. As for her... No, she cannot shirk this fight.

She smiles at Doctor. Understanding his concern for her and filled with warmth for it. She shakes her head.

"Aye, Doctor, yet nay, y'may have need of my assistance as well as Polzeath's. Bide ye here, Robin, in case these Stones have need.

"Come on then, let's see what's th' ruckus now." And her smile beams all the brighter.

Robin takes in a breath but forgoes complaint, recognising where he is needed and that it leaves him technically the only able-bodied man in the house. Polzeath packs all away efficiently and is there to catch the chamber door as his master leaves it, quietly and determinedly at heel. The Stone women left have set to gathering scraps of fabric and some piles of healing plants, ready to take in any wounded at need. Doubtless women in the Hall and the old, halt and lame down in the village are doing likewise. The visitors hasten on and out into a morning cloudy but bright, without the smell of smoke.

They cross the back paths, first striding then almost running through Fox trees and orchards, petals blowing gently around them like snow. Reaching the main road, the two that have danced Scorch Norton's 'oss feel that guardian meet them like a new and urgent need somewhere within: danger. The Wood waking. The vicarage. A need for a pulse, a form, some bones, to run.

Maggie takes the Trugred skull from her game bag. She raises it in both hands as if about to don a crown. She gazes directly into Martin’s eyes, saying. “Should we not meet again in this world, Dear Doctor, know that my rest will be better for having known thee.”

Her head bobs forward to kiss him briefly, gently, chastely on his lips. She smiles softly and places the top of the costume on her head.

The Doctor is struck dumb by surprise and paralysed in a torrent of thoughts and feelings, none of them bad. He comes to himself just as the Trugred's head and cloth covers Maggie's and chides himself Why must you always over think everything!

But I can be with her! and he lets the Trugred in in the hopes that he will.

Martin finds that the spirit creature surges forward to meet him from whatever place it generally exists, mounting as smoothly as gravity might take him to itself. There's still a visceral shock that thumps through him somewhere and nowhere, and then he is with her, with it, and in some distant place Polzeath cries out but that is of no matter as they shake out their mane in roils of smoke and ribbon and come to be in the world.

Maggie has felt this before, accepting the tune and spirit into her flesh, yet this time it's more urgent, and as the Doctor instinctively takes and drapes the trailing cloth of the top of the costume over his own head, so much stronger. Something of him comes up and over her, greater than an embrace, and suddenly they are vast and wild and complete: they feel the centuries swirl and sway above this moment; remember being Danish women who'd done bawdy, earthy rituals; being men keyed-up to run lest Puritan enforcement should descend of a May morning; being a shaman whose soul sat on the lodge threshold of all states at the start of the world, dancing. They had been a stallion, hanged and marked at the chest; they had been a young woman whose body was never shared, her heart suddenly beating outside her as the shadow of great soft uncurling limbs spread over her altar of wood.

They had been reindeer, wild horses, tame horses, a shaggy prehistoric beast, hide glittering with frost: they had been so many, and still and now they carried all that offered life down into their flesh, vast power that would surely burst a mortal heart hammering like iron, like pact on pact wrought into the land with force of will and blood.

Somehow they breathe, pulling real air into the wild furnace of their lungs, and four cloven hooves with clicking tendons touch the ground, jink about and push off into a run. There and not-there, they feel the echo of the ancient beast's horn upon their brow slicing through the air before them, though in that there is also a tangle of reindeer antler tree-branched and twined about into a spire. The beast that is Trugred thunders on like a sudden spring gale, an earthquake and wild wind in horse/man skin. Familiar lanes flash by at undreamt-of speed.

Trugred runs, down through the lanes and around still-gathering people, leaping the churchyard wall to cries of astonishment and awe. The church stands open but at present near-abandoned, only the Collins boys, Bart Phippin, Arnold Swanton and Dockie attending the bellrope and guarding the narthex, should the church be called upon to become a fortress once more. The latter startle at the appearance of the beast, but no guns are fired, the humans watching in silent wonder.

Trugred dance-prances through the church, skittering around pillars and finally standing square in the aisle to call out with a neigh that comes down centuries. It fancy-steps about to face the Devil Stone and notes the Hanged Man first there and then suddenly close, now all glittering Saxon ecclesiastical robes, now flickering, with proximity to Trugred, as though those were veil thin and covered remarkably fine spun linen, embroidered cloth, a torc displaced above the rope. Trugred noses the guardian, part out of exuberance, part in hearty greeting, and skitters around him.

Those in the church look on perplexed, though it seems Georgie at least can see the Bishop: "...'s friend's a skerrytton.."

This message was last edited by the player at 09:40, Thu 28 Sept 2023.

The Bishop blinks aboard the mighty beast and Trugred turns about to plunge back out into daylighty. They hurtle towards the vicarage, leaping folk and hurdling the hedge with true but easy effort like a dream.

[[going to put you on the church thread tonight if iPad co-operates, but scuttling to the supermarket now on my way home before it gets extremely crowded again.]]