Descending Road - LETTING HIM REST by Dana W. Paxson

LETTING HIM REST

1563 4D

Deen‘s stomach rumbled. They had reached the farm, the sun had set, and the autocart headlights wobbled the way to the house. The dog jumped from the cart’s bin and raced to the door.

“He’s hungry, as usual,” Marra said. “You’ll have to wait this time, Trig.” She got down, opened the door, and the dog raced inside.

Deen stopped the cart close to the door, and the two women hauled the man inside, into their little guest room, onto a tight-woven mat on the floor. He was unconscious, and didn’t respond to the movement, but his breathing was slow and regular, as if he slept peacefully. Deen shook her head — he should have been in absolute agony, but something, maybe a drug, was letting him rest.

Deen and Marra went to work, sponging him down, lifting and cutting away the fabric of his tattered clothing, trying to bandage the worst cuts with soft clean cloth.

Anger surged in Deen. “Who could do this thing? Fenz and the others, they were nothing like this at all.” Hot tears came. She wondered how she and Marra could undo the damage.

Marra‘s hand touched her arm. “No sense in any of it. Here, let me do the rest. You go cook soup for him, and brew me the arijan root for antiseptic.”

Deen left the room, tripping over the dog. The dog looked intently up at her. “Come on, Trig. Let’s give you some dinner.”

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	LETTING HIM REST 1563 4D Deen‘s stomach rumbled. They had reached the farm, the sun had set, and the autocart headlights wobbled the way to the house. The dog jumped from the cart’s bin and raced to the door. “He’s hungry, as usual,” Marra said. “You’ll have to wait this time, Trig.” She got down, opened the door, and the dog raced inside. Deen stopped the cart close to the door, and the two women hauled the man inside, into their little guest room, onto a tight-woven mat on the floor. He was unconscious, and didn’t respond to the movement, but his breathing was slow and regular, as if he slept peacefully. Deen shook her head — he should have been in absolute agony, but something, maybe a drug, was letting him rest. Deen and Marra went to work, sponging him down, lifting and cutting away the fabric of his tattered clothing, trying to bandage the worst cuts with soft clean cloth. Anger surged in Deen. “Who could do this thing? Fenz and the others, they were nothing like this at all.” Hot tears came. She wondered how she and Marra could undo the damage. Marra‘s hand touched her arm. “No sense in any of it. Here, let me do the rest. You go cook soup for him, and brew me the arijan root for antiseptic.” Deen left the room, tripping over the dog. The dog looked intently up at her. “Come on, Trig. Let’s give you some dinner.”