Continued from here.
Perhaps it was foolishness on Jinyel’s part to assume that his work was done. When he lived by himself, a task was over when it was over. The newly started fire would not question him, and the saddle would stay oiled once it was oiled. The greatest allure of living in the woods was privacy. If an animal ever grew curious about him, it never made that his problem.
People, however, were a different story. People wanted to talk, always, no matter the season or time of day. Rain or shine, with reason and without, people were separated from animals by an immeasurable need to chatter. If he stayed around them long enough, even if he never spoke a single word, they would somehow always need to chatter with him.
“Is its fur made of leaves?” asked a slender young woman, peering through the stables as Jinyel closed up the runaway horse.
He gave her a baffled look, which was answer enough. The strange horse was green, yes, but leaves were fairly easy to spot from where she was standing. Was she nearsighted?
“Back to attention,” snapped the teacher, a lean old woman with a sharp gaze. “You’re here to learn veterinary medicine, not to ogle Graft experiments.”
“But if we want a chance at magical mentorship―”
“You certainly won’t find that chance in the middle of the stables. That young man spent a whole morning with that animal and hasn’t asked a peep about Graft. In fact, young man, why don’t you come here? Since you all want to avoid learning about animal medicine, like you were supposed to, we’ll spend the afternoon going right back to basics.”
Once upon a time, Jinyel had flinched when people spoke to him. Now, all it conjured was a resigned sigh, because people needed to chatter line the suns needed to set. He had spoken with this woman before; she had been the one to send him out after the green horse, and to offer an empty stall to his own horse and mule in exchange. Jinyel might have liked living alone, but his animals weren’t so content. Goodwill amongst the Imperial Medical Headquarters could mean the difference between a comfortable Zi’da and a hungry one.
Jinyel turned to face the woman and all four of her students. Perhaps he took too long to walk, because the woman strode over as soon as she saw the resigned agreement in his expression. All the eyes of the students went with her.
“Now,” she announced. “Here we have a woodsman who lives by himself, cares for two animals, and makes forays into the wilderness. Who can tell me what ailments we might expect?”
A few moments of silence followed.
“Cuts and bruises?” asked the nearest student, the young woman who had been peering at the horse.
“Cuts and bruises.” The teacher rolled her eyes. “Any person alive gets cuts and bruises. You got a nasty cut on your hand just last week from handling the scalpels. Tell me something about him. What ailments might he experience that you won’t?”
Another silence.
“Poison ivy!” exclaimed a young man.
The teacher wasn’t thrilled with this answer, but it was better than the first. “Well, yes, I’m sure that would be a problem for him in the warmer seasons, but it’s the height of cold right now. I repeat, it’s the height of cold right now. This man lives outside. In the height of cold. Therefore…?”
“Hypothermia!” someone else said.
“Finally,” she muttered to herself. Then, to the class, “I won’t insult you by asking if he has hypothermia. Instead, someone tell me why we know he doesn’t.”
“Normal energetic movement,” someone called out.
“Normal skin tone, and no shivering,” said a third.
“I’m glad everyone has working eyesight,” said the teacher. “But remember, when a patient is conscious, what is the most effective way to get information?”
Silence. More silence. The students looked at each other, and then the young woman hesitantly said, “To take off his shirt?”
“To ask him. By Raskalarn’s blade, this is why I hate substituting.” She turned to Jinyel. “For the sake of argument, are you hiding a drop of hypothermia somewhere we can’t see?”
Accepting the contract earlier in the morning had already forced Jinyel to talk more than he was used to. His throat was sore, and his answer came out in a rasp: “I don’t know that word.”
“Oh, perfect!” Her face lit up. “You’re sick! Everyone heard that, yes? Someone get me a diagnosis.”
“Hypothermia!” said the same person who’d said it before.
The teacher pulled a wadded piece of paper from her pocket and threw it at him. “Someone else.”
The young woman peered at Jinyel. “You’ve got a sore throat. Did you have it yesterday?”
Jinyel shook his head.
“Good, good,” said the teached. “More questions equals a better diagnosis. You want the symptoms, but also how long they’ve had the symptoms, and whether those symptoms are getting worse or better. So…?”
She gestured for the young woman to continue.
“Your throat wasn’t sore yesterday.” The student frowned. “So… something happened overnight? Was your throat sore when you woke up?”
Jinyel shook his head, which only seemed to perplex her.
“Did you drink something too cold? Eat something painful?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t try to think of everything on your own,” said the old woman. “Remember, ask.”
After a pause, the young woman said, “What do you think made your throat sore?”
“Talking too much,” rasped Jinyel.
She laughed. “Funny. But really, what do you think did it?”
Jinyel just stared at her.
“A cold,” the student announced. “A common ailment during Zi’da. Or it could just be that he breathed in too much cold air. That can hurt the throat, too. Would the difference matter, if the effect is the same and there isn’t any underlying disease? The treatment is the same, isn’t it?”
The teacher raised an eyebrow. She looked at the student, then at Jinyel, and then she sighed.
“Yes,” she said. “The treatment would be the same. Tell me your treatment.”
“Tea,” said the student proudly. “And extra warmth around the neck, like a scarf or hood. They should take the tea as much as possible throughout the day. If they cannot do that, then they should at the very least take it when they wake up and before they go to bed.”
The teacher nodded. “And what shall the tea be made of?”
“Chamomile, garlic, and star anise. Some honey if they can afford it.”
The teacher nodded, then looked back at Jinyel. “You haven’t got any other ailments, young man? Broken bone, skin turning a strange color, joint pains, anything like that? These louts could use a bit of extra practice.”
Jinyel’s knees did hurt when the weather turned cold, but he didn’t dare mention that for fear of being questioned forever. So he just shrugged, and the teacher took that as an answer.
“No need to just stand there,” she said to the young woman. “Go on and get it.”
The student blinked. “Get what?”
“The tea, girl. I know we’ve got the star anise to spare. Go put together the herbs and bring it here, and you’re free from class for the rest of the day. Consider it your reward for the diagnosis. You, young man. Stick around for a bit; it's a simple recipe and won't take long for her to gather. You look like you could use a good tea.”
The young woman perked up at that, and marched through the stables with her head held high. The other students shot her jealous glares as she passed.
“As for the rest of you,” said the teacher, “Head over to the palomino and take a moment to observe her. Without saying it out loud, I want you to guess how many months pregnant she is and then write down your guess. I’ll come along in a moment, we’ll get started on what this class was actually supposed to be about. Go on.”
The remaining three students grumbled to each other, but dutifully opened up their notebooks and gathered at the door of a nearby stall. Inside was a palomino mare, who was apparently used to this sort of thing, and she raised only a single tired glance before going back to her nap. Jinyel could only hope to one day become that unbothered.
“Now, young man.” The teacher spoke more softly, so the other students couldn’t hear. “Was it really all the talking that did that to you? You don’t seem like one for people, and as much as the students prattled on, there is real danger in the cold. Hypothermia, especially. Do you know what that is?”
Jinyel shook his head.
“Your body is built to remain at a certain temperature. When the environment is too cold to maintain that temperature, it begins to shut down. Small things at first, like sensation, energy, that sort of thing. But if it goes too far, the vital organs begin to sleep from the cold, and when too many of them go out, that sleep becomes death. We’re in the middle of the cold season, boy. You can’t go taking chances with your health, you understand me?”
Jinyel nodded.
“Good. Go on and do… whatever it is you woodsfolk do all day. Make sure you sleep somewhere warm, and if you feel at all ill, don’t hesitate to come for aid. We have more students than we have patients, and besides, the Grafters like having a good tracker around.”
She waited a moment for him to answer, and thankfully didn’t seem offended when he remained silent. With an unhappy sigh, she returned to her students.
“Take care of yourself, young man,” she said over her shoulder. “If you’re half as reliable as you look, the Headquarters can get some good use out of you yet.”
Perhaps it was foolishness on Jinyel’s part to assume that his work was done. When he lived by himself, a task was over when it was over. The newly started fire would not question him, and the saddle would stay oiled once it was oiled. The greatest allure of living in the woods was privacy. If an animal ever grew curious about him, it never made that his problem.
People, however, were a different story. People wanted to talk, always, no matter the season or time of day. Rain or shine, with reason and without, people were separated from animals by an immeasurable need to chatter. If he stayed around them long enough, even if he never spoke a single word, they would somehow always need to chatter with him.
“Is its fur made of leaves?” asked a slender young woman, peering through the stables as Jinyel closed up the runaway horse.
He gave her a baffled look, which was answer enough. The strange horse was green, yes, but leaves were fairly easy to spot from where she was standing. Was she nearsighted?
“Back to attention,” snapped the teacher, a lean old woman with a sharp gaze. “You’re here to learn veterinary medicine, not to ogle Graft experiments.”
“But if we want a chance at magical mentorship―”
“You certainly won’t find that chance in the middle of the stables. That young man spent a whole morning with that animal and hasn’t asked a peep about Graft. In fact, young man, why don’t you come here? Since you all want to avoid learning about animal medicine, like you were supposed to, we’ll spend the afternoon going right back to basics.”
Once upon a time, Jinyel had flinched when people spoke to him. Now, all it conjured was a resigned sigh, because people needed to chatter line the suns needed to set. He had spoken with this woman before; she had been the one to send him out after the green horse, and to offer an empty stall to his own horse and mule in exchange. Jinyel might have liked living alone, but his animals weren’t so content. Goodwill amongst the Imperial Medical Headquarters could mean the difference between a comfortable Zi’da and a hungry one.
Jinyel turned to face the woman and all four of her students. Perhaps he took too long to walk, because the woman strode over as soon as she saw the resigned agreement in his expression. All the eyes of the students went with her.
“Now,” she announced. “Here we have a woodsman who lives by himself, cares for two animals, and makes forays into the wilderness. Who can tell me what ailments we might expect?”
A few moments of silence followed.
“Cuts and bruises?” asked the nearest student, the young woman who had been peering at the horse.
“Cuts and bruises.” The teacher rolled her eyes. “Any person alive gets cuts and bruises. You got a nasty cut on your hand just last week from handling the scalpels. Tell me something about him. What ailments might he experience that you won’t?”
Another silence.
“Poison ivy!” exclaimed a young man.
The teacher wasn’t thrilled with this answer, but it was better than the first. “Well, yes, I’m sure that would be a problem for him in the warmer seasons, but it’s the height of cold right now. I repeat, it’s the height of cold right now. This man lives outside. In the height of cold. Therefore…?”
“Hypothermia!” someone else said.
“Finally,” she muttered to herself. Then, to the class, “I won’t insult you by asking if he has hypothermia. Instead, someone tell me why we know he doesn’t.”
“Normal energetic movement,” someone called out.
“Normal skin tone, and no shivering,” said a third.
“I’m glad everyone has working eyesight,” said the teacher. “But remember, when a patient is conscious, what is the most effective way to get information?”
Silence. More silence. The students looked at each other, and then the young woman hesitantly said, “To take off his shirt?”
“To ask him. By Raskalarn’s blade, this is why I hate substituting.” She turned to Jinyel. “For the sake of argument, are you hiding a drop of hypothermia somewhere we can’t see?”
Accepting the contract earlier in the morning had already forced Jinyel to talk more than he was used to. His throat was sore, and his answer came out in a rasp: “I don’t know that word.”
“Oh, perfect!” Her face lit up. “You’re sick! Everyone heard that, yes? Someone get me a diagnosis.”
“Hypothermia!” said the same person who’d said it before.
The teacher pulled a wadded piece of paper from her pocket and threw it at him. “Someone else.”
The young woman peered at Jinyel. “You’ve got a sore throat. Did you have it yesterday?”
Jinyel shook his head.
“Good, good,” said the teached. “More questions equals a better diagnosis. You want the symptoms, but also how long they’ve had the symptoms, and whether those symptoms are getting worse or better. So…?”
She gestured for the young woman to continue.
“Your throat wasn’t sore yesterday.” The student frowned. “So… something happened overnight? Was your throat sore when you woke up?”
Jinyel shook his head, which only seemed to perplex her.
“Did you drink something too cold? Eat something painful?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t try to think of everything on your own,” said the old woman. “Remember, ask.”
After a pause, the young woman said, “What do you think made your throat sore?”
“Talking too much,” rasped Jinyel.
She laughed. “Funny. But really, what do you think did it?”
Jinyel just stared at her.
“A cold,” the student announced. “A common ailment during Zi’da. Or it could just be that he breathed in too much cold air. That can hurt the throat, too. Would the difference matter, if the effect is the same and there isn’t any underlying disease? The treatment is the same, isn’t it?”
The teacher raised an eyebrow. She looked at the student, then at Jinyel, and then she sighed.
“Yes,” she said. “The treatment would be the same. Tell me your treatment.”
“Tea,” said the student proudly. “And extra warmth around the neck, like a scarf or hood. They should take the tea as much as possible throughout the day. If they cannot do that, then they should at the very least take it when they wake up and before they go to bed.”
The teacher nodded. “And what shall the tea be made of?”
“Chamomile, garlic, and star anise. Some honey if they can afford it.”
The teacher nodded, then looked back at Jinyel. “You haven’t got any other ailments, young man? Broken bone, skin turning a strange color, joint pains, anything like that? These louts could use a bit of extra practice.”
Jinyel’s knees did hurt when the weather turned cold, but he didn’t dare mention that for fear of being questioned forever. So he just shrugged, and the teacher took that as an answer.
“No need to just stand there,” she said to the young woman. “Go on and get it.”
The student blinked. “Get what?”
“The tea, girl. I know we’ve got the star anise to spare. Go put together the herbs and bring it here, and you’re free from class for the rest of the day. Consider it your reward for the diagnosis. You, young man. Stick around for a bit; it's a simple recipe and won't take long for her to gather. You look like you could use a good tea.”
The young woman perked up at that, and marched through the stables with her head held high. The other students shot her jealous glares as she passed.
“As for the rest of you,” said the teacher, “Head over to the palomino and take a moment to observe her. Without saying it out loud, I want you to guess how many months pregnant she is and then write down your guess. I’ll come along in a moment, we’ll get started on what this class was actually supposed to be about. Go on.”
The remaining three students grumbled to each other, but dutifully opened up their notebooks and gathered at the door of a nearby stall. Inside was a palomino mare, who was apparently used to this sort of thing, and she raised only a single tired glance before going back to her nap. Jinyel could only hope to one day become that unbothered.
“Now, young man.” The teacher spoke more softly, so the other students couldn’t hear. “Was it really all the talking that did that to you? You don’t seem like one for people, and as much as the students prattled on, there is real danger in the cold. Hypothermia, especially. Do you know what that is?”
Jinyel shook his head.
“Your body is built to remain at a certain temperature. When the environment is too cold to maintain that temperature, it begins to shut down. Small things at first, like sensation, energy, that sort of thing. But if it goes too far, the vital organs begin to sleep from the cold, and when too many of them go out, that sleep becomes death. We’re in the middle of the cold season, boy. You can’t go taking chances with your health, you understand me?”
Jinyel nodded.
“Good. Go on and do… whatever it is you woodsfolk do all day. Make sure you sleep somewhere warm, and if you feel at all ill, don’t hesitate to come for aid. We have more students than we have patients, and besides, the Grafters like having a good tracker around.”
She waited a moment for him to answer, and thankfully didn’t seem offended when he remained silent. With an unhappy sigh, she returned to her students.
“Take care of yourself, young man,” she said over her shoulder. “If you’re half as reliable as you look, the Headquarters can get some good use out of you yet.”
