By the time Pustakawan had finished burying all the bodies, it was dark. He hadn't been able to find anything while he'd been hunting earlier in the rain. His clothes were muddy and he was cold.
Once he got back to the camp, the first thing Pustakawan did was feed the fire and then check on Vevie. She was still sleeping, so Pustakawan took the opportunity to change his clothes and hang the wet things up near the fire to dry, draping them over some rocks.
Now comfortable and warm, Pustakawan took the opportunity to take out the creams and herbs he had collected earlier to make new poultices for Vevie's wounds. He put some water on to boil.
"Vevie," he shook Vevie gently. She didn't stir and he shook her harder. Holding the back of his hand to her forehead, he sighed. She had a fever. This wasn't good. "Vevie," he said, hesitating and then taking a breath. "Vevie," I'm going to have to have a look at all your wounds. I'm - I'm going to have to undress you. I know you probably wouldn't like me to do it, but we have to deal with the infection quickly before it becomes life threatening."
Pustakawan paused again and then decided he'd redress the wounds on her arms and legs first instead. He changed the bandages and put the dirty ones aside to wash later. He put another pot of water on to boil. Finally he grimaced and slowly lifted up her shirt.
Unwinding the long bandage from around Vevie's middle and chest, Pustakawan's grimace deepened at the unpleasant smell. He wrinkled his nose at the oozing yellow pus that was the source of the smell.
Steeping some herbs in the boiling water, Pustakawan used the herb water to carefully wash the wound until a deep knife wound became clear. This must have hurt like hell. Vevie was one tough woman. It wasn't an old wound, so she must have got it from fighting Chimcham.
He winced at what he was going to have to do. It was a good thing Vevie was out cold. Washing out a wound like this wasn't going to be easy. It was a good thing he still had some alcohol left. It was crude wine made from tough root tubers - the only type of alcohol he could get in the area, but it would do.
***
Some time later, Pustakawan wiped the sweat from his forehead and carefully poured the alcohol over the stitched wound. Covering Vevie up, he made her as comfortable as he could, before turning around to rinse out the pots with rain water and start boiling more water to wash and sterilise the old bandages and the cloth he had used to wash the wound.
Sighing when everything was done, and the clean bandages were drying on the improvised racks he had made by the fire, Pustakawan sat back against a rock and munched on some lightly toasted bread. Later, he'd have to go hunting again, but he figured it was all right to take a short break for now. At least there was enough clean water he could boil to refill their drink bottles.
He sat and watched rain, checking on Vevie every now and then. The night deepened. The rain continued to fall.