Trigger Warning: dubious consent
"Sahar! Sahar, come quick!"
Sahar had been sitting by one of the indoor fountains, reading a book of poetry, when the calls rang out. Snapping the book shut and setting it down on the fountain's edge, she rose quickly to her feet, dusted off her richly died robes, and jogged, barefoot, through the temple halls, intricate braids bouncing. The voices grew louder the closer she got, and it seemed to be coming from the front doors. Odd...and a little worrisome; she hoped it wasn't an emergency, because her visions had been vague lately, and she would hate to have missed something important.
When she arrived at the front doors, she soon saw what was causing the ruckus.
Laid across the temple steps was a flame-haired man--and he looked in bad shape. Even from a distance she could see he was covered in cuts and bruises, his clothing torn in places--and he wasn't moving. Surrounding him were two other priestesses, who were currently struggling to haul him the rest of the way up the steps and into the temple.
Good thing he was unconscious; that couldn't have felt good.
With a gasp, Sahar darted over to the group to help them. She cradled his head and shoulders while her friends hauled on his arms. "What happened?"
"Don't know," her friend, Naja, said with a shrug as she hauled on his arm. "We found him like this. He just...he just collapsed on the steps."
Sahar frowned down at him. It looked like he'd been beaten. Smart move, heading to the temple for help.
Grunting, they finally got him inside. With some more dragging and struggling, they got him out of the doorway and into one of the side rooms, where they laid him out onto some lavish rugs and pillows, doing what they could to make him comfortable. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Naja looked at Sahar and put her hands on her hips.
"Think you can deal with this?" she asked. "Lady Amaji is about to pop, so I have to go tend to that."
"And I have a wedding to attend," the other priestess, Sulo, piped up.
Sahar laughed and shook her head. "It's okay, it's okay. I've got this!" she said, waving them off. "Go enjoy yourselves."
Naja rolled her eyes. "Ah yes. Getting covered in afterbirth. So fun."
With another laugh, Sahar shoved her playfully toward the door. "You know what I mean! Seriously, I've got this," she said, looking the man over. "His wounds look minor enough, but he might have hit his head. Nothing I can't deal with."
As soon as they' said their goodbyes and her friends had gone, Sahar left the room to collect some supplies: warm water and sponges, and thread in case any wounded needed stitching. She mixed a poultice, as well, that would help the pain and bring down swelling.
Returning to the room, she arranged her supplies around her, knelt beside him, and started to examine his injuries. Gingerly, she stripped off his shirt and felt at his ribs, checking for broken ones. Satisfied, she wet the sponge and began the slow task of cleaning away the blood and dirt.
