Out of nowhere a blade, thrown point-first, sliced cleanly through the rope holding the false bird. It crashed and skidded, coming to a stop, drooping in an almost disappointed fashion. Smalls muttered something not-so-pleasant about birds of prey, then looked forward. Behind the still swinging rope stood Wilfred, arm still extended, breathing hard and heavy.
The pain registered, and Smalls suddenly realized that kicking the thing might not have been his wisest choice. Wilfred hurried over, letting out a sigh and collapsing when he realized that Smalls was alright. And he was! No one needed to fuss over him, which he knew was exactly what Wilfred would do if this wasn’t resolved quickly.
But of course, Smalls did not get what he wanted.
Heather was there, appearing from the crowd, looking pale and worried. The crowd then seemed to crush around, and Smalls felt like he was suffocating. He was able to relieve some of this by focusing on Heather.
“Making way! Out of mine get it, you crazed lookers-on!” An odd-looking, middle-aged rabbit was shoving through the crowd. Well, that was about as quick as it got……His assistant, Emma, was following behind.
“Please everyone,” Emma said, “Dr. Zeiger needs room. Back up!”
The red glasses were what really got Smalls. They looked so ridiculously comical that he was already having a hard time taking the doctor seriously.
“Yes, yes.” Zeiger continued, shoving through, and crouching to look at Smalls’ feet. Smalls could tell that there was a decent amount of blood and was mentally grimacing at how long he would probably be on crutches or worse. “Out of mine ways, you rabble-crowders. Let’s having a looks at you crazy-tough fighter-kicker with your foots so discouraged by the cutting of bird-blades.”
Smalls blinked a minute as he deciphered what the odd doctor had said, and figure out if it was nice or not.
Glancing over, he could see that Helmer and Rake were deep in what looked like a very angry conversation but couldn’t hear a single word of what was being said over the whispering crowd. Didn't these people have jobs?
“Been cuts on foots before, I sees.” Zeiger said. Smalls tensed. Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. “Deep cuts, I sees too, likes that of a brand.” Zeiger squinted at him through his funny glasses a moment, “Odd, that is. Long healed, however, no consequence for today.”
For all of Zeiger’s eccentricities, he knew how to do his job. He had the cuts on Smalls’ feet cleaned and bandaged in no time flat. Every once and a while, however, Smalls sensed that the doctor was sending him a particularly curious look. Smalls doubted he’d met many rabbits who had scars on the bottoms of their feet.
“I’m fine,” Smalls repeated for what felt like the millionth time, I don’t need fifty people hovering over me.
“Doc?” Rake asked, coming up and ignoring Smalls’ previous statement.
“He is being correct.” Zeiger said. Smalls was surprised, since the ‘I’m fine’ thing didn’t usually fly all that well with doctors. “He’ll be fine as frog of hair in the nick of no time flat. He is cutting a bad cut on one of foots, and other is nothing too bads.” Smalls wasn’t sure what the first part of that statement meant, but he was glad the scrapes really were only that-scrapes. He wanted to be well and done with it as soon as possible.
“How soon can I be on the move?” He asked.
“Not less than three and one-half days and you’ll be well enough to moving everything of your feets.” Zeiger assured him.
“Good. Thanks, Doctor.” Smalls stood, wincing as sharp pain shot through his legs, This is going to be an issue. Wilfred offered to help him, and Smalls accepted for once. Then Wilfred’s face changed. Smalls glanced across, and saw that Helmer had come over.
“Get away.” Wilfred snapped. Helmer paused, then turned and walked away.
“No.” Smalls said. Helmer stopped but didn’t turn around. There was such a heavy weight about this rabbit-such a pain and burden. Smalls could tell. “My place beside you, my blood for yours, till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world.” You could have heard a pin drop. Helmer didn’t turn. His hand went to his face, his head dipping, and he walked off quickly.
Smalls, for once, was sure he had said the right thing.