It wasn't painless. In fact – Malik surmised as the paper thin layer dried and cracked and then peeled away yet again – it was agonising. He gnashed his teeth and growled again.
Maria had long left the room, Yusef held firmly to her bosom as she fled in search of help. Since the crack of dawn Malik had been cursing violently and dosing himself on hashish. His mind was sluggish, but he could still point out that when in air his skin was too dry and flaked away before truly covering well, and when submerged in water in would come off in slippery sheets. The painful process of growth would start all over again. Luckily it was quick. Very quick. In the three hours Malik had been awake he had managed to cover his arm in a thin sheet of skin to about his elbow 15 times before everything went pear-shaped.
Rauf, ex-weapons master and a trusted friend, after staring in absolute shock for the most part of an hour, now sat in the room with him administering the oil when needed, keeping a tabs on the growth of Malik's skin and making sure he ate and drank through the haze in his mind.
“Again?” He asked, peering at the bare flesh as the skin began to inch down once more, heavily damaged and frayed at the edge. He picked up the knife by his side and sighed, running it over the flame he had lit a while ago for this purpose. Malik hissed and then whined as the other crowded close, picked the layer of skin away from his muscles and easily cut away the damaged skin.
“We have to do something, Malik.” Rauf sighed and discarded the skin into the pot with a rather squeamish wriggle, wiping his hand on a cloth and a look of distaste. Steadily strips of skin were drying against the clay and petrifying. They would probably have to throw it out. There was no use in a bowl made of skin than there was an arm without any.
Malik gave a mumble of agreement as he scooped up in his right hand some water and trickled it sloppily over the rim of his flesh, water seeping into the damp cloths he rested his bare arm on. The water provided less friction and did not stick to his muscle so quickly. Altaïr had had to cut his arm down when the muscle began to climb over the rope as if to turn it into a part of his wrist. The thought of having a ring of rope under his flesh made Malik shudder.
“If only it wasn't such a dry day.” Rauf continued and frowned heavily. “It seems the only moisture is in the river. Or when the wife is cooking.” Lazily he picked up the rag which he had cleaned his hands with and ran it over his blade, dropping it to the ground when done and making a sound of contemplation. Malik lay back with his eyes closed. The fuzz in his head prevented him from thinking of any solutions himself and gave him an increasing sense of hopelessness and exasperation. Rauf fiddled with the rag in hand, brow furrowed deeply and then rising. His mouth opened and then closed to thin his lips. He thoroughly thought out his plan with a mixture of animated facial expressions and the occasional sound. It seemed like it might be daft at first, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. He grinned at the cloth in hands.
“Malik?”
The man in question cracked open an eye to look at Rauf, grunting.
“I don't suppose that you could rid yourself of that blanket, could you? I must gather some things. Do not worry, however. I will be back soon.” He scrambled to his feet and stretched lavishly.
FILL [4.a/?]
Maria had long left the room, Yusef held firmly to her bosom as she fled in search of help. Since the crack of dawn Malik had been cursing violently and dosing himself on hashish. His mind was sluggish, but he could still point out that when in air his skin was too dry and flaked away before truly covering well, and when submerged in water in would come off in slippery sheets. The painful process of growth would start all over again. Luckily it was quick. Very quick. In the three hours Malik had been awake he had managed to cover his arm in a thin sheet of skin to about his elbow 15 times before everything went pear-shaped.
Rauf, ex-weapons master and a trusted friend, after staring in absolute shock for the most part of an hour, now sat in the room with him administering the oil when needed, keeping a tabs on the growth of Malik's skin and making sure he ate and drank through the haze in his mind.
“Again?” He asked, peering at the bare flesh as the skin began to inch down once more, heavily damaged and frayed at the edge. He picked up the knife by his side and sighed, running it over the flame he had lit a while ago for this purpose. Malik hissed and then whined as the other crowded close, picked the layer of skin away from his muscles and easily cut away the damaged skin.
“We have to do something, Malik.” Rauf sighed and discarded the skin into the pot with a rather squeamish wriggle, wiping his hand on a cloth and a look of distaste. Steadily strips of skin were drying against the clay and petrifying. They would probably have to throw it out. There was no use in a bowl made of skin than there was an arm without any.
Malik gave a mumble of agreement as he scooped up in his right hand some water and trickled it sloppily over the rim of his flesh, water seeping into the damp cloths he rested his bare arm on. The water provided less friction and did not stick to his muscle so quickly. Altaïr had had to cut his arm down when the muscle began to climb over the rope as if to turn it into a part of his wrist. The thought of having a ring of rope under his flesh made Malik shudder.
“If only it wasn't such a dry day.” Rauf continued and frowned heavily. “It seems the only moisture is in the river. Or when the wife is cooking.” Lazily he picked up the rag which he had cleaned his hands with and ran it over his blade, dropping it to the ground when done and making a sound of contemplation. Malik lay back with his eyes closed. The fuzz in his head prevented him from thinking of any solutions himself and gave him an increasing sense of hopelessness and exasperation. Rauf fiddled with the rag in hand, brow furrowed deeply and then rising. His mouth opened and then closed to thin his lips. He thoroughly thought out his plan with a mixture of animated facial expressions and the occasional sound. It seemed like it might be daft at first, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. He grinned at the cloth in hands.
“Malik?”
The man in question cracked open an eye to look at Rauf, grunting.
“I don't suppose that you could rid yourself of that blanket, could you? I must gather some things. Do not worry, however. I will be back soon.” He scrambled to his feet and stretched lavishly.