First Words

It took only one more week for both his broken jaw bone and arm to fully heal. Merely two and a half weeks from the day I found him. To me, it was miraculous. To him, rather ordinary. I had fully expected to be caring for this man — this angel — for at least three months.

With that, the time finally came to remove the splints. Intentionally, I started by removing the splint on his arm. The thought of hearing his voice for the first time was an experience that needed some easing into.

“Seeing as you are healed, I’ll be removing your splints today,” I told him. He gently nodded, his amber eyes tracking me.

I moved quite slow in removing the cloth and wooden sticks from his arm in an attempt to delay the inevitable first words. But of course, untying a knot was a rather quick process. A minute or two at most.

And so, I tried to calm my shaking hands and oscillating breath by closing my eyes for a moment. It worked until I felt his hand touch mine. I was not sure if it was a nudge to hurry up or reassurance, but in my time of girlish infatuation I leaned toward the latter.

I started by unwrapping the fabric running from the top of his head to under his chin that was used to keep his jaw from moving around too much. Next from the table beside me, I picked up the smallest knife I owned. I lifted it toward his cheek as his eyes watched the whole way up, maybe nervous the shake in my hands would create a new injury. With the dull side of the knife toward is cheek, I slid the tip between the gap of skin and wooden splint, pulling the knife toward me to cut the first thread. He flinched his head slightly as the thread poking through skin and into his mouth likely brought some discomfort. Gently, I pulled on one end of the suture, watching the other end disappear into skin before the whole piece came out the other pinhole beneath his chin. I did this for all the remaining threads, slowly, in anticipation of hearing his voice for the first time. The final thread was removed and the splint dropped from his cheek, leaving behind a red indent.

In a soft, baritone voice he said to me, “finally I may speak,” with a smirk. It was a wonderous sound — a voice to match his physical beauty. As he spoke, his hand lifted toward his jaw, rubbing the reddened area. There was a pause as he seemingly waited for me to talk. I smiled at him, but my mouth would not create any sound being overwhelmed by the experience.

Silence lingered with his eyes locked on mine, “I suppose I should be thanking you,” he said. “Y-you’re welcome,” I replied inelegantly. He opened and closed his jaw, testing and stretching it out. “How does it feel?” I asked him, finally able to expel a proper sentence from my lips. “Perfectly restored,” he responded. “Although, I suppose this is not yet,” he added while looking down toward the unhealed wound in his leg.

The inevitable question lingered in the air. He must have known it was coming. Man does not fall from the sky. Man does not have feathered stumps protruding from their backs. Man does not heal broken bones in two short weeks. Therefore, he must not be of mankind, but something else.

“What are you, exactly?” I sputtered bluntly. I did not mean to be, but the panic that toiled in my brain seemed to have spat out the words senselessly. His cheery demeanor quickly faded, as if he suddenly remembered he was not in a familiar place, not among his own kind. “That’s a difficult question,” he said as he met my eyes.

“Are you an angel?” I asked. That seemed the best way to word it. He pulled his eyes from mine and seemed to think on the question. “I was, I suppose,” he replied somberly. Somehow having confirmation of that fact made my mind spin all the more. I had many more questions to ask but realized this may look more like an interrogation.

“Could you tell me your name?” I asked, “maybe that’s what I should have started with.” He smirked at my foolishness, “Armaros.”
“Armaros,” I repeated.
“Yes?” he asked, grinning. I blushed a little.
“It’s not a name I’ve heard before.”
“Well, it’s not an uncommon name where I come from,” he told me.

Where do you come from? I wondered and he seemed to be pondering if I’d ask. I decided to save such an inquiry for another day.

“I think it’s time I made lunch,” I said as I made my way to the hearth.
“What will we be eating tonight cook?” he asked jestingly.
A bit taken off-guard, I told him, “potato and barley stew.”
“Ah,” he said — I sensed some disappointment in his voice.
“Would you prefer something else?”
“No, no that’s all right. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“I do have two rabbits frozen in the shed if you would prefer those,” I said. His eyes glowed at that idea.
“That would be too much trouble.”
“Not at all,” I told him, “they do need to get eaten up anyhow. It’s nearly spring.”
“You are too kind,” he grinned. Seeing that smile made my heart skip a beat.

With a bowl in hand and fully kitted in my fur winter-wear, I made my way out of the cottage toward the small shed I built three years ago. The roof and a few inches of the door were the only parts to rise above the deep snow. And so I dug with the bowl scooping furiously while throwing snow over my shoulder. Deeper and deeper the hole went finally clearing just enough room for the door to open narrowly after about 10 minutes of work. It was just enough for me to squeeze my body through the opening.

The wind whistled outside as I searched the small shack measuring five feet in each direction. It was filled to the brim with tools, buckets, barrels and other items I had not room for in the cottage. The shed was always crammed with a large assortment of items during winter being the only alternative place I had to store anything. From a hook on the rafters hung a burlap sack that I pulled down and opened up to confirm it contained that last of the raw meat I had — two skinned rabbits sat frozen solid inside.

When I returned to the cottage Armaros looked at me perplexed, “you were gone a while,” he said.
“I had to dig out the snow to open the shed door,” I told him.
“I am deeply sorry, I had not realized it would be such a task,” he replied. The guilt soaked his face as sweat did mine.
“It’s no worry,” I said. He accepted the answer quicker than expected, “all right then.”

After thawing then cooking the meat in the cauldron, I cut them both up into bite-sized portions. The moment I handed him the bowl he immediately brought the flesh to his mouth, biting into it like a starved dog. Had I not still been in a state of nervousness in front of another person I may have felt some disgust. But having been in solitude so long poor manners had little affect. In mere minutes the half-dozen pieces on his plate disappeared. “Would you like more?” I asked after barely starting my first piece.

“Certainly,” he said. And in another short few minutes the first of the rabbits was eaten. Somehow he managed to simultaneously eat both fast and gracefully.

“Is there more?” he asked.
“There is half a rabbit left in the pot,” I said, “I’ll get it for you.”

My assumption was he was exceptionally hungry due to not eating solid food for so long. Fortunately for him, my appetite did not match his. I soon found that despite his thin frame, this meal was no outlier. He had the appetite of a lion.