"Grandfather, look at this one!"

The old man turned to smile indulgently into his granddaughter's shining, emerald green eyes, reaching out to fondle her startlingly red hair as she eagerly presented him with her latest find. It looked fairly unremarkable to him, just another mass of slender green-gray leaves and long, dirty white tubers for roots. "My, my, and what's this one used for, might I ask?"

"Well, when this one is dried the roots can be ground into a powder, which is used to reduce fevers and inflammation."

"Goodness, that's a lot of big words! Where did you learn all that, Shirayuki?"

"From the book that Grandma found for me! It has all kinds of plants in it! Someday, I'm gonna learn them all, and be the best herbalist in Tanbarun!"

"I'm sure you will, my dear," her grandfather chuckled back, taking up the lead rope of his team once again. The horses snorted softly, reluctant to end their short break, but plodded diligently forward all the same. Shirayuki beamed at him, then scampered down the path ahead of her grandfather once again, her cream cloak streaming out behind her, eager to find new herbs to tuck into the little basket swinging from her arm. Her grandfather gazed after her, allowing his weariness to wash over him as she vanished from sight. He was glad that she'd already found a passion. And not just any passion, but one that would allow her to provide for herself when the time came. One of these days, he and her grandmother were going to end up leaving that sweet little girl all alone. He tried not to think about that too often. The mere suggestion nearly broke his heart.

"Grandfather! Grandfather!"

He looked up in surprise sometime later as the girl came rushing towards him, sans her cloak, her beautiful eyes as wide and as round as saucers. "Shirayuki? What's wrong, dear?"

"A boy," she panted as she staggered up to him. "There's a boy by the river. He's hurt. He's hurt really bad."

His eyes blew almost as wide as his granddaughter's. For a split second, he didn't know what to do, then his wits returned to him and he dropped the horse's reins. "Show me."

She was off like a shot, heading at a dead run in the direction that she'd come from. He shambled after her as quickly as he could manage, leaving the horses where they were for the moment. Little Shirayuki would pause periodically, glancing back to make sure that he was keeping up. Fortunately, the river wasn't too far from where they'd left the horses. Unfortunately, his granddaughter was all too right about the situation.

The boy lay utterly still, wrapped in Shirayuki's cloak, his face nearly as pale as his silver hair, and he could see bright red splotches staining the cloak near his left shoulder and right sleeve. As he got closer, he could also hear that each of his breaths sounded weak and thin as his granddaughter pulled him into her arms. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, tears appearing in the corners, a hint of panic flickering in their depths.

"Let's get him back to the wagon," her grandfather grunted, kneeling down beside her. "We'll take him back to town with us." Shirayuki nodded, passing the boy over to him. His heart twisted as he gazed upon that pale face. This child couldn't be much older than Shirayuki. Old enough for people to treat him as an adult, but still young enough that the baby fat had not left his cheeks. It took a great deal of effort to lift the boy into his arms; he was tall for his age, and therefore quite heavy. He was grateful that he'd spent so many years of his life lifting heavy kegs of wine and ale, or he would not have managed the walk back nearly so easily.

The horses seemed to perk up at their approach, whinnying with a note of curiosity in their voices. Shirayuki sprang to open the back of the wagon so that her grandfather could place the boy gingerly inside, then she scrambled in beside him, her legs sprawled to one side and her back pressed against the crates of wine as she leaned over him, her expression a mask of concern.

"Take care of him, would you, dear?"

"Of course. I am an herbalist, after all," she replied in a show of bravado, but he could see the sheen of fear in her eyes as she forced a smile in his direction, rummaging through the little bag of medical supplies that she always insisted on carrying with her. Not for the first time, he found that he was incredibly grateful for that little quirk.

"Best to get him out of those wet clothes first of all. And take a bottle of wine to clean his wounds before you bind them. The alcohol will sting, but it should help stop illness."

"I know, Grandfather. Don't worry, I can handle this."

"I know, child. But call me if you need anything."

Shirayuki watched as he closed the back of the wagon and walked out of her line of sight, bracing herself slightly as the team started off again, turning back the way they'd come. A little hesitantly, she removed her cloak from the boy's still frame, examining the wounds once again. They could be a lot worse, but the cut in his right arm was still very deep and he'd lost a great deal of blood from it, and the arrow in his left shoulder put him in danger of infection.

The young herbalist quickly set to work, untying the neck of the boy's cream-colored shirt so that she could pull it over his head. But then she hesitated. The shirt was long-sleeved, and pulling the fabric over his wounds might cause more harm than good. Could she perhaps tear the fabric at the shoulders? Not easily.

As she pondered the dilemma, Shirayuki's eyes fell on the boy's belt, where - for the first time - she noticed the sheath clipped to his side. Curious, she pulled a small, unadorned dagger from the little scabbard. She glanced curiously at the young man's pale face. Where had a boy like this received such a weapon? But she supposed that she could worry about such things later, because - weapon or not - the dagger offered the perfect solution to her problem.

In a few quick strokes, Shirayuki had reduced the shirt to little more than ribbons, which she carefully tugged out from underneath him. She considered pulling off his soaked trousers as well, but - cheeks a little heated - she settled for simply removing his thick, leather boots and using her cloak as a makeshift towel to dry him off as best she could before wrapping it around his torso, leaving his arms free.

The wound in his right arm had to be dealt with first. He was still bleeding, and losing much more blood could very well be fatal. Moving quickly, Shirayuki broke into the closest wine box, pulling out a bottle and struggling to pull out the cork. She managed it eventually, but only by taking her patient's dagger to it. Next she tugged a clean cloth out of the little satchel bag at her side, which she used to carefully wash the boy's injury in the wine. He grimaced slightly under her less-than-practiced ministrations, but remained unconscious as she set the wine-and-blood-soaked rag aside and dug through her satchel once more for a pair of salves designed to reduce pain and decrease the likelihood of infection.

She applied the painkiller first, then, after a moment's deliberation, removed a needle from a special side pocket in her bag and strung it with silk - a much sturdier material than most. With unsteady hands, Shirayuki stitched the wound closed, tying it off at the end. The stitches were uneven, the skin pink and puckered, but she had done the best she could, and the bleeding had nearly stopped. Finally, she smeared the anti-infectant across the wound and wrapped it in a clean bandage, which she tied off loosely.

Next, she moved on to the arrow wound. This was the part she was most worried about. That arrow had to come out for her to clean and dress the wound properly, but if she messed up, then she could end up severely injuring the boy. Possibly even fatally. She shifted positions to better see the wound, allowing the growing sunlight to fall across his shoulder. She pressed against the wound cautiously, pulling away as the boy groaned audibly, his eyes scrunched against the pain. Shirayuki chewed her lower lip, feeling the wound once again, but now with a gentler touch. His immersion in the river had prevented any kind of scab from forming, and it didn't look as though the arrow had pierced too deeply. Perhaps it had struck bone? The clean cut in his skin denied the likelihood that the weapon had been barbed, too.

"Well, I can't do him any good by sitting here," she muttered. With a deep breath, Shirayuki braced her knee against his arm and shifted her grip on the arrowhead. Before she could second-guess herself, she tugged sharply upward.

The arrow came free with a rush of blood and a sharp, involuntary cry from the boy. Shirayuki scrambled to snatch up the wine bottle and rag, washing the wound with hasty strokes as her patient groaned pitifully.

"Shirayuki? Is everything alright?"

She glanced up quickly as her grandfather peered worriedly into the wagon before returning her attention to her work. "I think so. I just pulled the arrow out. I'm applying a painkiller right now." He watched quietly for a few more minutes before nodding uncertainly and walking back to take the reins of the horses.

His granddaughter, in the meantime, worked feverishly to keep the bleeding at bay as she cleaned his wound and smothered it in the painkiller and the anti-infectant salve. Although not very wide, it was deep, and the bleeding just wouldn't stop. Shakily, pausing often to dab at the blood, she sewed this one up as well and covered the outside with the anti-infectant. Her rag soaked through, she pulled out a couple of fresh bandages, used one to clean the remainder of the blood and wine away, dry it off, and then carefully bandaged his arm with the second, reapplying salve as she did so.

For a long time afterwards, Shirayuki simply sat back on her heels, staring down at her red-stained hands. Eventually something in the back of her mind reminded her that she should clean up the mess a little bit and she set about wiping her hands, rolling up the dirtied bandages and setting them in a corner, and putting away what remained of the medicines. Then she looked back at the boy.

He was still far too pale, his pulse slow and unsteady, his chest barely lifting with each breath, his eyes scrunched closed. And his skin. His skin felt so cold. What had grandfather said about wearing wet clothes? Maybe she'd taken them off too late. Maybe they'd already made him sick. She frowned, staring at his face.

She had to get him warm.

It took a little while of digging, but eventually she found the thick wool blanket buried in the wagon box in case of emergencies. Setting it aside, she took her now-ruined cloak and laid it across the worst of the blood on the floor boards and settled herself beside her patient. Blushing a little, Shirayuki wrapped her arms underneath the boy's and hauled him against her, so that his head was resting against her chest. Then, taking the wool blanket, she tucked it around them both and slipped her arms around him, hoping to share her body heat as best as she could.

She was a little bit startled when, still unconscious, the boy seemed to press closer to her, instinctively seeking her warmth. But he looked so much more peaceful now, so much more child-like, that she couldn't find it in herself to be angry, or even embarrassed for very long. Rather, she found herself searching the contours of his face once more, tracing the softness in his cheeks with her eyes, the worry lines in his forehead. Eventually, her fingers found their way to his silver hair, tousling the last of the water from them. Then, little by little, the sound of his settling breaths and his heartbeat against her body slowly lulled her to sleep.

.oOo.

Even though he knew that warmth surrounded him, he still felt cold. And sore. And just all around exhausted. His eyelids were leaden weights; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get them to open. He couldn't seem to figure out why though; his brain was too clouded, too fuzzy to think. As hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to remember where he was, nor why, nor how he had gotten there to begin with. But he couldn't bring himself to care, either. He was cold, and wherever he was, it was warm.

That was all that mattered.