I rush through the door, getting inside as quickly as I can.  This young woman, whether she’s my height or this ridiculously diminutive size, is hurt.  That dog definitely did a number on her.  There’s blood across her arms, rips all over her blouse, and she’s completely unconscious.  I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have a dog of that size attacking her.  She had to have been scared out of her mind to do that and to fall unconscious once she came out, towards me.  I shake my head, still trying to grasp the fact that she’s so small.

I can’t worry about that, though.  The fact of that matter is that she’s here, and she’s hurt.  I can’t distract myself with all of these thoughts flying through my head about how short she is.  I close the hard door of the kitchen behind me and turn, walking through the kitchen, and into the living room.  In this room, there are a couple couches, one leather with a coffee table in front of it.  Bringing the two of us to said couch, I get on my knees and get ready to set her down. 

Slowly lifting her body from my shoulder, I put one arm under your back and the other under her knees as I set her down against the material of the couch.  I take a look at her for a moment, still baffled at her size.  I quickly shake my head in frustration as I do so, though.  I cannot afford to be caught, looking at her so much.  She needs my help.  I immediately pick myself up and start walking off towards the main hallway.  I need to find something to clean up the wounds on her arms first. 

Making my way across the hallway, I walk towards the stairs to the second floor and turn into a small bathroom, right across from it.  I flip the light switch, lighting the tiny room.  It’s really not much.  The room is rectangular, with a toilet and sink on one side, and a cabinet and bath/shower combination on the other side.   Ignoring the right side of the room, for now, I make my way over to the sink.  On the right side of the bowl, I pick up a small, blue wash cloth.  Unwrapping it and holding it in my hands, start lowering it under the faucet.

Letting the cloth dangle and lay in my left palm, I pull my right hand up and slowly pull up on the handle of the sink, pointing the handle to the left, showing the machinery that I want cold water to come out.  My eyes twitch a little as I feel a stream of cold water flow down into the cloth, and then into my hand.  I’ve been so hot from running outside; it gave me chills to feel cold water.  Bumps start lining my arms and legs as I slowly drench the cloth in water before pulling down on the faucet handle, shutting it off.

I bring my hands together and start to squeeze and tighten up the cloth.  I roll it up, as tight as I can, letting all of the excess water drain out of it and down into the sink bowl.  I need this cloth to be wet for her, but not be dripping-wet and get all over her.  I ring it out several times, over a few minutes, before I’m content with the condition it’s in.  Slowly folding it in half twice, I hold it in my left hand and turn to leave the bathroom.

Making my way back to the living room, I see that the woman is still on the couch, void of consciousness.  Lowering myself down to a kneeling position, I look along her arms and legs for all of the blood-marks from her encounter with that dog outside.  Her legs seem scraped up a little bit, mostly due to the fall, but they seem alright, otherwise.  Her arms, however, aren’t so luck.  As I keep scanning her form, I see clear trails of blood going down each arms.  The plants and dirt wouldn’t have been able to do that.  The dog must have actually managed to scrape her up with its claws. 

I slowly shake my head as I reach the cloth up to her face, which has a lone trail of blood coming down her forehead.  I set the cloth against her forehead and apply a little pressure, holding it there for a minute to let the blood soak up into the cloth and off her forehead.  I let up on the pressure and put it back down in several places before bringing it up to see if I’d gotten all of it up.  As I looked, I made a soft swipe across her head and her head was as white as the rest of her skin.  Thankfully, there were no signs of any sort of gash or tear.

Reaching down towards her arm, I start doing the same thing.  I put pressure on it for awhile, then I do it in another spot.  After a few more minutes, the blood is wiped away, but as I swipe the last of it off, her arm twitches, as if trying to pull away from me.  My eyes switch over to her face, trying to see if she was waking up.  If she was, I’d need to calm her and make sure she doesn’t move while I clean the rest of her up.  I wait a few moments and, thankfully, she doesn’t wake up. 

Unfortunately, however, I look back at the arm and see why it had twitched in the first place.  Along her arm, from the shoulder halfway down to her elbow is a long scratch mark.  Actually, it doesn’t look like a scratch.  It’s more like a cut.  It makes sense, though.  She’s smaller than the average person, I would hope, so a scratch could be more lethal to her, since the dog is so big.  It doesn’t make it any better though.  My eyes twitch as I see that huge cut on her, making it hard for me to watch.

Trying not to look at it, I switch over to her other arm, slowly sponging the blood off, hoping that it wasn’t the same way.  After a few minutes, I am proven wrong.  As I clear the blood off the other arm, it twitches as well.  I made a soft grunting sound as my eyes twitch again and I look away for a moment.  This arm was cut up, too, but it had to cut marks on it, too.  Both parallel and almost in the same location as the other.

I cross my arms and sigh.  This woman wasn’t just knocked over.  She was attacked by that dog.  I set the cloth down and get up.  I need to go get some bandages and cover up these wounds before she gets an infection…