Warsworn

two-handed."
    Rafe nodded. "Maybe. If I were desperate."
    "Or insane," Isdra added.
    Prest dismounted, and dug through his packs, pulling out a fold of dark leather. He handed it to Epor, who nodded his thanks. "I'll replace it, Prest, after the next ehat hunt."
    "What exactly is a—"
    Gils popped up and handed me a bunch of leaves, laughing up at me. "How much of this do you want?"
    I smiled at him. "As much as I can get, Gils. Do you remember what it can do?" He gave me a scornful look. "I's know, Warprize." He bent to his task, his voice taking on a chanting tone. "Bloodmoss is for packing wounds. It grows at the site of great battles. It will not bind to the flesh, will not stick in the scabs. It seems to aid healing, prevent souring of the flesh and will close the wound. It absorbs as much blood as it can, and when you are done with it you should scatter it about, for the plant will use the blood to take root and grow." He stood, his hands full of more leaves.
    Marcus groaned. "A blood-sucking plant. More knowledge than I need." I was pleased. But Gils's memory had never been a problem in his lessons. Firelanders were blessed with perfect memories, since they had no written word. No, it was the practical application of the information that had been Gils's difficulty. My feet had been a good example. It's one thing to talk about cleaning and treating a soured wound. It's another to work on a wiggling patient who couldn't help but jerk her feet at every touch. Finally, in frustration Marcus had me lie on my stomach, and he and Keir held my feet as Gils cleaned them. The boy had done the best he could, but the right foot had become an angry, red, and pus-filled wound. Which forced poor Gils to try to clean it out with an angry and worried Warlord of the Plains hanging over his shoulder, watching his every move.
    I leaned forward, holding my hand in front of Marcus's face. "It's wonderful, Marcus. Give me your knife and I'll show you how it works."
    "Skies above." Marcus jerked his head back and the horse danced beneath us. "It's more like you'll cut your hand off. Not with my knife!"
    Isdra laughed, and moved her horse closer. "Show me, Warprize." She pulled her knife and sliced deep into the meat beneath her thumb. Blood welled up quickly.
    I took the leaves and twisted them, crushing then-fibers. A strong scent of mold rose into my nostrils. "Take this and press it to the cut."
    Isdra wiped her blade clean on her trous and sheathed it, then used her fingers to press the mass to the cut. The leaves turned color almost immediately as they drank up the blood, changing to a pale green. Gils craned his head to see, and Isdra lowered her hand to let him get a good look. At my nod, she pulled the leaves away. The skin was healed, with only an angry red line left to show she'd been hurt. Isdra held her hand up to show the others, and let the used leaves fall to the ground.
    Prest and Rafe were clearly impressed, and Rafe started to gather the crop in earnest. Gils squatted, staring at the bloody leaves intently. I watched for a minute, then smiled. "Gils, I don't think it will take root while you watch."
    "Oh." He was clearly disappointed as he started to gather more.
    "And what do we have to be careful of when we use this plant?" I asked him gently. He frowned a bit, then his face cleared. "Not to use it on a dirty wound. It will seal the dirt inside, if you are not careful." He bit his lip. "I could not have used it on your feet."
    "That's right," I nodded. "And it's dangerous to use on a gut wound for the same reasons. Marcus grunted at that. "Does it have to be fresh?"
    "I was told that it works just as well dried, just not quite so quickly."
    "I can think of other uses." Isdra smiled slyly. "It would be handy at moon times. Would it grow on the Plains?"
    I flushed, uncomfortable even as I shrugged. She spoke so casually about something that wasn't discussed out loud by my people. At least, not in mixed company. Epor had dismounted, and was looking at the leaves he was holding. His horse nosed his hand, but threw its head up when he offered it the leaves. "Would it work on a horse?"
    "Why is it always about horses with you people?" I snapped, suddenly irritated. There was an uncomfortable silence. The surprised looks on their faces made my pique vanish. I looked down at Marcus's back and mumbled. "I don't know."
    Gils, bless his youth, was oblivious. "I's filled my bag, Warprize." His arms were filled with his