Hedge of Thorns: Assessments Tumble’s sluggish response is sufficient for me to know the back of his knee has no wound. The thermometer droops, and standing, I take it. 100 degrees. Not ideal, but not an unredeemable disaster, if he’s dosed generously with willow tea. In the meantime, I bind Tumble’s knee with the wet
Hedge of Thorns: First Aid I part the leaves with more caution, and glimpse speckled fur. A sodden, annoyed bobcat kitten glares at me with arched spine. The effect of its threat is immediately destroyed by a kitten sneeze. “It’s not my fault your mama didn’t come back for you, cat. You don’t look much
Hedge of Thorns: Improvising Tumble empties the cider glass in two gulps. No sense in revealing I have a large stash of hard cider, because my supply of bark is limited. “With the broken ribs I suspect you have, lying down would be both miserable and foolish. It’s the wrong season for ice, so you’re
Hedge of Thorns: Dose Fire flicker and lamp glow illuminate the sweat drops dotting his skull as he yanks zippers open and stacks items on the table. Jerky, needles, scissors, buttons, thread and a darning egg, wadded up socks, elastic bandages, a flannel shirt—none of them things I don’t have—and finally, from its depths, four