There's a bit of Mohawk in this next chapter, which may or may not be accurate. If you can speak/write Mohawk and have spotted an error, please let me know. I don't bite. Also, ribs used to be wrapped, but as Haytham notes it's not really a great treatment.
*** Haytham waited by Connor's side as the doctor daubed, bound, and fussed over the injured man. Currently, the assassin was drifting in and out of consciousness, a chesty cough making it all the more difficult to set his ribs, and an innate sense of defense against touch - one that had swatted Haytham's hand away more than once. There was no indication that Connor was aware of his surroundings. Had Connor not been weakened by his illness, Haytham had no doubt that a finger or two would have been broken instead of weakly grasped at, and then the doctor would have two patients instead of just one.
With practiced ease, the doctor lifted Connor's body and started to lightly wrap the ribs to keep them in place for the healing process. Haytham frowned - he didn't like this process, especially not with Connor's cough but if it helped then he wasn't going to put up a fuss.
"How long will it take?" Haytham asked as Connor was lowered onto his bed.
"Twelve weeks at the least."
The doctor tucked some pillows around Connor, plumping them up so he wouldn't roll in his sleep.
"If you have more pillows, then I recommend that you find them. Judging by how fidgety he is now, the boy is the fall-out-of-bed sort. Which honestly doesn't surprise me considering he's a sava-"
"Whatever you're about to say," interrupted Haytham, very quietly, "I recommend you think upon it before continuing."
"Yes. Well. As I was saying, stop him from rolling, keep him warm, but not too warm, and make sure to support the ribs when he coughs. Breathe from the abdomen, avoid strenuous activities, the usual pneumonia treatment. Be liberal with the laudanum - a few drops with every meal. This should help reduce the coughing. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the undertaker before they box up Samuel Black."
And with that, the doctor picked up his case, jammed his hat on his head and left Haytham alone with an insufficiently treated patient. Haytham glared at the retreating doctor - if he could be called that - and vowed to ride into town once Connor had regained consciousness to send for a better doctor from Boston. It was absolutely disgraceful for a such an uneducated man to be calling himself a doctor. Unfortunately it was all the people of the frontier could offer and Haytham couldn't resent them for that. It wasn't their fault that they couldn't afford land closer to the cities.
Connor wuffed in his sleep, trying to roll onto his bad side, jerking back when it hurt him. Better find those pillows. Haytham doubted Connor would appreciate Charles or Hickey's pillows, since their scent was so strong, but perhaps William's would be soothing. The man had spent the most time with the natives after all.
Presently, he fetched William's bedding. Tucking it against his pup's side, Haytham frowned when it wasn't enough. Charles' scent would send Connor into a rage, while Hickey's was disgusting at best, so he couldn't use that. All the other pillows were already supporting Connor. A hand rose, and Haytham went to take it so it wouldn't flop back down painfully, but it wildly careened around his hand and grabbed his arm instead, giving a forceful tug.
"Rake'níha," Connor murmured, eyes slitted, trying to see against the light. "Rake'níha, oh niiawenhátie?"
Not for the first time Haytham wished he knew more than a few words in Kanien'kehá:ka. He could pick out something that sounded similar to 'father' but that was it. Obligingly, he knelt next to Connor as it seemed as if that was what he wanted.
"You were sick and being beaten but I brought you here - Connor, can you hear me? Connor?"
It was no use. The English name wasn't strongly rooted enough in Connor's brain for him to recognise it. Damn, he needed to stay awake for a little so Haytham could tip some tea and laudanum down his throat. The coughing was clearly painful, the chest disrupting the broken bones, pushing against those damned bandages and threatening to bleed internally - the negatives of laudanum's addictive property was the lesser of two evils in this case.
"Damn you, Connor, stay awake," growled Haytham, not daring to shake the man for fear of hurting him further. "Rattoon. Ratonhakakaka. Raddy. Radonha-"
"Ratonhnhaké:ton," whispered Connor, hoarse and dry.
"Ratonhn," Haytham mimicked slowly, trying to soften his tongue over the sounds.
"Haké:ton," repeated Connor, no more alert than before.
"Haké:ton," said Haytham. "Ratonhnhaké:ton."
"Rake'níha."
There was that word that sounded like 'father' again.
"Why is your language so infuriating?" Haytham complained, more to himself than to Con-no, Ratonhnhaké:ton.
"Yours is equally so," he mumbled before falling asleep again.
Clearly exhaustion was more powerful than his thirst. Haytham supposed that his son would wake when it was necessary. Now to fix the rest of this pillow problem.
Fill: Wolf-Father 3/?
***
Haytham waited by Connor's side as the doctor daubed, bound, and fussed over the injured man. Currently, the assassin was drifting in and out of consciousness, a chesty cough making it all the more difficult to set his ribs, and an innate sense of defense against touch - one that had swatted Haytham's hand away more than once. There was no indication that Connor was aware of his surroundings. Had Connor not been weakened by his illness, Haytham had no doubt that a finger or two would have been broken instead of weakly grasped at, and then the doctor would have two patients instead of just one.
With practiced ease, the doctor lifted Connor's body and started to lightly wrap the ribs to keep them in place for the healing process. Haytham frowned - he didn't like this process, especially not with Connor's cough but if it helped then he wasn't going to put up a fuss.
"How long will it take?" Haytham asked as Connor was lowered onto his bed.
"Twelve weeks at the least."
The doctor tucked some pillows around Connor, plumping them up so he wouldn't roll in his sleep.
"If you have more pillows, then I recommend that you find them. Judging by how fidgety he is now, the boy is the fall-out-of-bed sort. Which honestly doesn't surprise me considering he's a sava-"
"Whatever you're about to say," interrupted Haytham, very quietly, "I recommend you think upon it before continuing."
"Yes. Well. As I was saying, stop him from rolling, keep him warm, but not too warm, and make sure to support the ribs when he coughs. Breathe from the abdomen, avoid strenuous activities, the usual pneumonia treatment. Be liberal with the laudanum - a few drops with every meal. This should help reduce the coughing. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the undertaker before they box up Samuel Black."
And with that, the doctor picked up his case, jammed his hat on his head and left Haytham alone with an insufficiently treated patient. Haytham glared at the retreating doctor - if he could be called that - and vowed to ride into town once Connor had regained consciousness to send for a better doctor from Boston. It was absolutely disgraceful for a such an uneducated man to be calling himself a doctor. Unfortunately it was all the people of the frontier could offer and Haytham couldn't resent them for that. It wasn't their fault that they couldn't afford land closer to the cities.
Connor wuffed in his sleep, trying to roll onto his bad side, jerking back when it hurt him. Better find those pillows. Haytham doubted Connor would appreciate Charles or Hickey's pillows, since their scent was so strong, but perhaps William's would be soothing. The man had spent the most time with the natives after all.
Presently, he fetched William's bedding. Tucking it against his pup's side, Haytham frowned when it wasn't enough. Charles' scent would send Connor into a rage, while Hickey's was disgusting at best, so he couldn't use that. All the other pillows were already supporting Connor. A hand rose, and Haytham went to take it so it wouldn't flop back down painfully, but it wildly careened around his hand and grabbed his arm instead, giving a forceful tug.
"Rake'níha," Connor murmured, eyes slitted, trying to see against the light. "Rake'níha, oh niiawenhátie?"
Not for the first time Haytham wished he knew more than a few words in Kanien'kehá:ka. He could pick out something that sounded similar to 'father' but that was it. Obligingly, he knelt next to Connor as it seemed as if that was what he wanted.
"You were sick and being beaten but I brought you here - Connor, can you hear me? Connor?"
It was no use. The English name wasn't strongly rooted enough in Connor's brain for him to recognise it. Damn, he needed to stay awake for a little so Haytham could tip some tea and laudanum down his throat. The coughing was clearly painful, the chest disrupting the broken bones, pushing against those damned bandages and threatening to bleed internally - the negatives of laudanum's addictive property was the lesser of two evils in this case.
"Damn you, Connor, stay awake," growled Haytham, not daring to shake the man for fear of hurting him further. "Rattoon. Ratonhakakaka. Raddy. Radonha-"
"Ratonhnhaké:ton," whispered Connor, hoarse and dry.
"Ratonhn," Haytham mimicked slowly, trying to soften his tongue over the sounds.
"Haké:ton," repeated Connor, no more alert than before.
"Haké:ton," said Haytham. "Ratonhnhaké:ton."
"Rake'níha."
There was that word that sounded like 'father' again.
"Why is your language so infuriating?" Haytham complained, more to himself than to Con-no, Ratonhnhaké:ton.
"Yours is equally so," he mumbled before falling asleep again.
Clearly exhaustion was more powerful than his thirst. Haytham supposed that his son would wake when it was necessary. Now to fix the rest of this pillow problem.