Chapter 5: Resolution
: The Healer
The convict lay sprawled on the cold stone floor, his body a tangled mess of bloodied, raw flesh and exhausted muscles. The square, once filled with the raucous cries of the crowd, now lay silent and still, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long, ominous shadows across the cobblestones. The gallows stood as a silent sentinel, its dark wood a stark contrast to the pristine white of the surrounding walls, the rope that had moments before bit into his neck now hanging limp and still.
The convict couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief, a weight lifted from his shoulders. The execution was over, and he was still alive.
The crowd had dispersed, their morbid curiosity sated for the day. The square was quiet now, save for the distant voices of the guards as they cleaned up the remnants of the public spectacle. The convict lay there, his back a patchwork of bloodied welts and raw, open flesh, his body shivering from the exertion and the cold.
He was dimly aware of the guards moving around him, their voices low and muted, like they were speaking from the bottom of a well.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch that made him jump. He turned his head, squinting up at the figure standing over him. It was the Healer, a woman he'd seen before, her dark hair tied back in a tight braid, her eyes filled with a quiet sympathy.
"You're awake," she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I was starting to worry."
He managed a weak smile, his lips cracked and bleeding.