(ooc: Open to all)
“There you go, Gilfred,” Everett said, securing the knot tied atop the sling wrapped around the hedgehog’s left arm. “Now try not to move this at all…it will need a few days’ worth of healing before we can let that arm down again.”
“Pshaw!” Gilfred blanched, scrunching his eyes at the ferret. “I’m no cripple, Doctor, an’ doan you be tryin’ t’ keep me from me work! Them apples’ll be picked afore season’s out, I’s assure ya!”
“I’m sure they will,” Everett said, chuckling. The ferret washed his paws in a small basin of water and dried them on a rough towel draped over his shoulder. “But leave that to the younger ones—you’ve got kits to think of.”
“Aye,” Gilfred moaned, hopping down from the makeshift examination table Everett had ordered for his ramshackle infirmary. “I just hate mopin’ about an’ not doin’ a spot’a work.”
Everett began clearing away loose powder and dried leaf fragments from his work table. “Well, you could do something else, you know…supervise, perhaps?”
Gilfred rubbed his stubbled chin with his free paw. “Supervise, y’say?” A slow grin grew wide across his features. “Now that’s somethin’ I can do. Keep ‘em in line an’ all?”
Everett nodded. “That’s the spirit.”
“Thankee, Doctor,” Gilfred beamed, nodding briefly before ambling out the doorway towards the courtyard. He hummed a boisterous, merry tune in his deep baritone as he went off in search of younger creatures to delegate to. Everett followed him with his eyes and shook his head, smiling. Despite the fearful fall, Gilfred was in good health…something every beast in Redwall was thankful for. In fact, Everett thought, the past season had been a blessing, with nary an injury save simple singes from cranberry tarts and occasional stomach aches from Skipper’s soup. Everett cupped a paw around the last lit candle in his infirmary, ready to blow it out.
A glow from outside caught his attention, and he halted his exhale.
A dim light ascended up the belltower, and suddenly vanished.
Everett leaned towards the glass of his window, straining his eyes to see any source of movement or creature who might have gone up the tower. The tower remained dark and cold, and as if aware of Everett’s sudden attention, tolled out a low, ancient tone. The tables were set for dinner.
“Odd,” Everett said to himself, blowing out the flame of his candle.
“Everett!” a voice called from the hallway. “C’mon! You don’t want to be late for supper!”