How I edit my own work - Plus a story to read too - 2

Original text

It was still dark when she awoke but there was nothing unusual in that, she was always awoken before it was full light outside.

Since she had been sent away by her father to become a servant, Katherine had to be up at daybreak each day to tend her chores, which included maintaining the kitchen and scullery fires. If a fire was out, which was more often than not, she had to rake the ashes, set the kindling and relight it and all before getting on with her other tasks.

Blinking her eyes, Katherine realised that she was not in her usual bed and she also knew what had woken her. Her whole arm throbbed but the pain intensified just above the wrist where it flared out into a bright and angry agony.

She moved and a familiar scream tore itself free from her raw throat. Her bandaged hand had been weeping during her sleep. So much had it wept that it had leaked through the grimy fabric and soaked onto the filthy blanket she slept under, sticking blanket and bandage together with scabbed blood and dried, crusted pus.

As she had moved, the blanket that was caught under her body pulled at her melted hand, renewing her agonies.

A large and rough hand was clamped to her mouth.

“Shut up!” A voice she did not recognise hissed at her.

She could not stop the tortuous sobs and the man yanked her to her feet and pushed back the fabric that was draped in front of the door, opened it and forced her outside into the damp morning air.

Dizzy from the pain tearing through her hand in nauseating waves, she wandered away from the doorway. The cold morning air revived her a little and as she approached the trickle of a stream, she knelt to bathe her hand in order to loosen the encrusted fabric from it.

The cold water washed over both hands. As she worked the bandage off, pieces of debris also came away, charcoal and ashes floated from the red lump of destroyed flesh. A flap of skin wafted in the eddy then broke off and followed the other waste. At last the hand was as clean as she could manage and she withdrew her left hand, allowing the ruin of her right to succumb to the searing ecstasy of cold and then, merciful numbness.

She bent her head low, her hair dipping into the stream on her left, but not on her other side. She looked to her right to see where her hair should have been and was dismayed to see the shrivelled ends where it had been scorched by the fire. Her clothes were also singed and burnt. She touched her face as though to check that it too had not been burnt. Her fingers told her that it had not been burnt but the skin on her face told her that she had been scorched. The skin was warm to the touch and felt stretched and tight, she had been lucky in that respect then.

Because her hand was by now numb, she found she was no longer distracted by pain and her thoughts could reassemble themselves into some kind of order. She realised that she did not know where she was or who the man that had pushed her outside could be. She concentrated and thought back to the previous day and realised that she had fainted, but could only guess that she had been taken to someone’s home in order that her injuries could be hidden.

“I don’t know who they are hiding me from; my father would not be interested,” she muttered to herself and droplets of salt water dripped off the end of her nose as she gave herself over to self-pity.

“Now if that is true, then it is a shame indeed, for I see you have great potential

Katherine.” The voice at once startled yet soothed her. She kept her hand in the flow of the stream, but caught her hair in her left hand to keep it from her eyes as she looked around.

Her fanciful imagination conjured an image of a handsome young man on a magnificent bay stallion, come to whisk her away. Instead, she saw a tall, cloaked figure – silhouetted before the rising sun which dappled light through the trees surrounding them. She had to strain her neck to see him until he stepped closer. He knelt beside her and took her damaged hand from the stream.

She pulled away for fear of the pain, but the water was ice cold and she had immersed it for a long time, the lack of sensation remained.

He turned it this way and that, studying its permanent fist of melted flesh and sympathising.

“Come with me Katherine, you have much to learn in only a short time,” he said as he took a pot from the folds of his cloak. He removed the waxed cloth covering from the pot and dipped two fingers inside. They emerged covered in a thick green-grey substance that Katherine could not recognise either the look or the scent of.

She pulled back as he made to take her hand again, but allowed him to hold it on his second and more determined attempt. He smeared the substance onto her wound with a delicate touch and immediately she felt it soothing the sore skin. Then he draped a piece of clean cloth over her hand loose enough to only adhere to the salve. Then he stood and held out his hand for Katherine to take, she hesitated for less than a heart-beat and took it in her left hand, he helped her to stand and waited whilst she shook the pins and needles sensation from her feet, then he led her further from the doorway she had been evicted from less than an hour before.

“Where are we going? She asked, accepting the fact that she would follow him without it being mentioned.

Edited text

Perhaps because she was used to being woken before daybreak every day or perhaps the discomfort in her hand woke her. The gloom surrounding her when she opened her eyes gave no cause for concern. That she didn’t know where she was alarmed the child.

Since her father sent her away to become a servant, Katherine had to be up at daybreak each day to tend her chores. Maintaining the kitchen and scullery fires before anyone else was up and about was a lonely existence. If a fire was out, which was more often than not, she had to rake the ashes, set the kindling and relight it and all before getting on with her other tasks.

Blinking and rubbing her eyes, Katherine knew she was not in her usual bed and she also realised what had woken her. Her whole arm throbbed and ached. The pain intensified just above the wrist where it flared out into a bright and angry agony so intense she could almost see it.

She moved and a familiar scream tore itself free from her raw throat.

Her bandaged hand had wept pus during her sleep. So much had seeped from the wound that it had oozed through the grimy fabric and soaked onto the filthy blanket she slept under, sticking blanket and bandage together with scabbed blood and dried, crusted discharge.

As she moved, the blanket that was caught under her body pulled at her melted hand, renewing her agonies.

A large and rough hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shut up, brat!” A voice she did not recognise hissed at her.

She could not stop the tortuous sobs and the man pulled her to her feet and pushed back the fabric draped in front of the door. He yanked it open and with a push to her back, forced her outside into the cold, damp morning air. She stumbled but didn’t fall and before she had turned back to look at the door, it had slammed closed behind her.

Dizzy from the pain tearing through her hand in nauseating waves, she wandered away from the doorway. The cold morning air revived her a little and as she approached the trickle of a stream, she knelt to bathe her blistered flesh. By instinct perhaps, she knew she should loosen the encrusted fabric from her hand and clean the wound.

Cold water washed over both hands. As she worked the bandage loose, pieces of debris also came away. Charcoal and ashes floated from the red lump of destroyed flesh. A flap of skin wafted in the eddy then broke off and followed the other waste.

At last, the hand was as clean as she could manage and she withdrew her left hand, allowing the ruin of her right to succumb to the searing ecstasy of frigid water and then, merciful numbness.

She bent her head low, her hair dipping into the stream on her left, but not on the other side. She looked to her right to see where her hair should have been and seeing the shrivelled ends where it had been scorched by the fire dismayed her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she wondered why she had become so upset at the loss of her hair.

Her clothes were singed and scorched and she touched her face as though to check that it too had not been damaged. Her fingers told her that it had not been burnt but the skin on her face told her that she had been scorched. The skin was warm to the touch and felt stretched and tight, she had been lucky in that respect then.

No longer distracted by pain of her hand because the stream had done its work and numbed the sensation from it, her thoughts could reassemble themselves into some kind of order.

She looked about and realised that she did not know where she was or who the man that had pushed her outside could be. She concentrated and thought back to the previous day and realised that she had fainted, but could only guess that she had been taken to someone’s home in order that her injuries could be hidden.

“I don’t know who they are hiding me from; my father would not be interested,” she muttered to herself and droplets of salt water dripped off the end of her nose as she gave herself over to self-pity.

“Now if that is true, then it is a shame indeed, for I see you have great potential, Katherine.” The voice at once startled yet soothed her. She kept her hand in the flow of the stream, but caught her hair in her left hand to keep it from her eyes as she looked around.

Her fanciful imagination conjured an image of a handsome young man on a magnificent bay stallion, come to whisk her away. Instead, she saw a tall, cloaked figure – silhouetted before the rising sun which dappled weak early-morning light through the trees surrounding them.

She had to strain her neck to see him until he stepped closer. He knelt beside her and took her damaged hand from the stream.

She pulled away for fear of the pain, but the water was ice-cold and she had immersed it for such a long time, that the lack of sensation remained.

He turned it in his hands, studying the permanent fist of melted flesh from every possible angle and he sympathised.

“Come with me Katherine, you have much to learn in only a short time,” he said as he took a pot from the folds of his cloak.

He removed the waxed cloth covering from the pot and dipped two fingers inside. They emerged covered in a thick green-grey substance that Katherine could not recognise either the look or the scent of.

She pulled back as he made to take her hand again, but allowed him to hold it on his second and more determined attempt. He smeared the substance onto her wound with a delicate touch and immediately she felt it soothing the sore skin.

Then he draped a piece of clean cloth over her fist, loose enough to only adhere to the salve. Then he stood and held out his hand for Katherine to take. She hesitated for less than a heart-beat and took it in her left hand.
He helped her to stand and waited whilst she shook the pins and needles sensations from her feet; then he led her further from the doorway she had been evicted from less than an hour before.

“Where are we going? she asked, realising the fact that she would follow him without knowing the answer.