Hos
shylarah
Atalanta
Sotiras
The SavantDelicate fingers probed the remarkable saddle sore gently as light brown eyes examined the area around the wound. It wasn’t that bad, just the skin rubbed raw and oozing from sitting in the saddle too long with ones pants bunched against the riders skin and the side of the horse, or the girth, or the saddle depending on where the sore was located.
But Mr. Jones skin was fair and even soft to the touch asides from the hair and the specific sore. Harriet was willing to bet that Mr. Jones was rather new to the cowboy, Texas life style. In fact she wondered how he had managed to keep sores such as this one at bay this long. Harriet sat back from examining the wound and pressed her plump lips together thoughtfully.
“Well Mr. Jones color me impressed.” The nurse smiled kindly and stood, walking to the low table that supported the various jars of concoctions and medical supplies. “That is quite a saddle sore you have there… Must have been riding for some time to have developed one like that…” Mr. Jones flushed and murmured something vaguely affirmative, confirming Harriet’s belief that he had not been in the saddle all that long, and truly his skin was just used to a much more sensible usage than being rubbed and chaffed all day in jeans and leather.
“Not to worry…I’ll have you cleaned up in a jiffy and you’ll be able to get back to work. Might I suggest that you wrap the area’s most commonly affected by rubbing with some bandages before mounting up? Just for your days that will be spend continuously in the saddle?”
Mr. Jones looked grateful for the suggestion and listened intently as Harriet described the various body parts most regularly afflicted by such things while demonstrating how to wrap himself with the length of bandages provided. Harriet cleaned the current saddle sore, dressed it and with a word of thanks and payment Mr. Jones was on his way. She wished him luck, with skin as soft as his the nurse knew they would see each other weekly.
Washing her hands in the basin beside the window Harriet mused that most Texans and cowboys, from her experience, had skin as thick as the long horns they worked with, half the time they came in complaining of stomach pains only to find out they had three or four other bleeding scrapes and wounds that they were completely unaware of.
This trail of thought was cut off sharply as the square fell silent. Harriet’s work room in the doctors main studio was part of the main square and her window looked out onto the bustling streets. The silence in itself was more alarming than the cries for help. If the crowds went quiet, it was a sure sign of something ominous.
The nurse dried her hands on her apron as she peered out the window, wondering what was going on. A young boy half-dressed was stumbling into the square, hollering for help. Startled into action Harriet grabbed her plain white bonnet and pulled it onto her head, demurely covering her braided and coiled brown hair before rushing down the steps of the square’s buildings and towards the boy.
“What is the matter?” She asked softly, approaching with some caution as she slowed her gate. Just because he was a boy did not mean he wasn’t dangerous, still it seemed unlikely he was armed, dressed as he was, and the poor lamb seemed on the edge of fainting. Harriet was not a fighter and she could not help with the obvious horrors the boy was escaping but she could help him.
As he fainted Harriet felt even more sure of his inability to harm her and approached, kneeling beside his body and bringing a soft clean hand to his dirty cheek, throat and neck appraising as she went, eyes focused on the patient and nothing else. At least for the moment.
But Mr. Jones skin was fair and even soft to the touch asides from the hair and the specific sore. Harriet was willing to bet that Mr. Jones was rather new to the cowboy, Texas life style. In fact she wondered how he had managed to keep sores such as this one at bay this long. Harriet sat back from examining the wound and pressed her plump lips together thoughtfully.
“Well Mr. Jones color me impressed.” The nurse smiled kindly and stood, walking to the low table that supported the various jars of concoctions and medical supplies. “That is quite a saddle sore you have there… Must have been riding for some time to have developed one like that…” Mr. Jones flushed and murmured something vaguely affirmative, confirming Harriet’s belief that he had not been in the saddle all that long, and truly his skin was just used to a much more sensible usage than being rubbed and chaffed all day in jeans and leather.
“Not to worry…I’ll have you cleaned up in a jiffy and you’ll be able to get back to work. Might I suggest that you wrap the area’s most commonly affected by rubbing with some bandages before mounting up? Just for your days that will be spend continuously in the saddle?”
Mr. Jones looked grateful for the suggestion and listened intently as Harriet described the various body parts most regularly afflicted by such things while demonstrating how to wrap himself with the length of bandages provided. Harriet cleaned the current saddle sore, dressed it and with a word of thanks and payment Mr. Jones was on his way. She wished him luck, with skin as soft as his the nurse knew they would see each other weekly.
Washing her hands in the basin beside the window Harriet mused that most Texans and cowboys, from her experience, had skin as thick as the long horns they worked with, half the time they came in complaining of stomach pains only to find out they had three or four other bleeding scrapes and wounds that they were completely unaware of.
This trail of thought was cut off sharply as the square fell silent. Harriet’s work room in the doctors main studio was part of the main square and her window looked out onto the bustling streets. The silence in itself was more alarming than the cries for help. If the crowds went quiet, it was a sure sign of something ominous.
The nurse dried her hands on her apron as she peered out the window, wondering what was going on. A young boy half-dressed was stumbling into the square, hollering for help. Startled into action Harriet grabbed her plain white bonnet and pulled it onto her head, demurely covering her braided and coiled brown hair before rushing down the steps of the square’s buildings and towards the boy.
“What is the matter?” She asked softly, approaching with some caution as she slowed her gate. Just because he was a boy did not mean he wasn’t dangerous, still it seemed unlikely he was armed, dressed as he was, and the poor lamb seemed on the edge of fainting. Harriet was not a fighter and she could not help with the obvious horrors the boy was escaping but she could help him.
As he fainted Harriet felt even more sure of his inability to harm her and approached, kneeling beside his body and bringing a soft clean hand to his dirty cheek, throat and neck appraising as she went, eyes focused on the patient and nothing else. At least for the moment.