The longer I was present, the more convinced I became that I was the worst healer in the history of the world.
Blinking back tears, I shifted when Grumpy strained to sit up.
"You shouldn't be doing that," I warned him and sat beside him. I pushed him back down. "You're healing. You shouldn't tax yourself."
He grumbled something and remained where he was. I brought him milk. He was able to lift the bladder to his lips on his own this time. I considered every tiny advancement in his condition that he wasn't going to die, in the hopes Batu would soon show the same signs of recovery. Evaluating him once more, I was pleased to see the puffiness of his boils receding. The discoloring remained, and the few that burst were still of concern for infection, but the illness was retreating.
Grumpy was beating it.
Initially slow, his recovery sped up over the next five days. While Batu got sicker and sicker, Grumpy took enormous strides in the other direction. By the end of my second week in the sick tent, Grumpy was active for half the day, weakened, scarred and nowhere near healed, but fever free and healing. He became my helper and showed me better how to roll the tent walls, helped me move Batu into the sun, and generally assisted in cleaning up the ger during the hours when he had strength.
Batu's condition was critical. He had stopped speaking and was barely ever awake. I didn't know what made Grumpy recover and Lumpy die, and I didn't know how to do anything more to help Batu. I didn't leave his side, though, as the next week dragged on.
At the twenty-one day mark, Batu's fever finally broke. I was too tired to be excited, too fearful of a relapse to celebrate.
I awoke beside Batu after a fitful doze to find him resting peacefully. His skin was warm but not hot, and he wasn't muttering in his sleep or tossing and turning. As with Grumpy, Batu's boils were de-puffing. He looked like he'd been through a boxing match with a hundred different men; his body was black and blue from the illness.
Pushing myself up, I grimaced. I had a crick in my neck and tension ache from between my shoulder blades. I was an absolute mess.
"You are not eating enough," Grumpy said from nearby. He was prepping Batu's morning milk and herbs.
"It's hard for me to eat when I am worried," I replied.
"What does one have to do with the other?"
I snorted. He had Batu's simple logic. He handed me a piece of cloth with meat and cheese on it. Grumpy was almost fully recovered, though I suspected it was going to take him some time before his full strength returned. "How are you feeling?" I asked and nibbled on my food.