It would've been a comfort if Mossie had shouted in pain when we washed her wound. Instead, she simply shivers. The gash is deep, and strangely dark on the inside. I don't know if the strange hue of her injury is an infection or due to what she is. From Amun's worried expression, as he rinses the gash, he doesn't know either.
The captain stands in Mossie's cabin, his hat in his hands. He knows where to take her. She requested to go home. Home for Mossie is a weeklong journey up the European coast to an island off the coast of Denmark. In the meantime, we need to keep her alive.
Amun uses a thin silver blade from the kitchen to cut into his wrist. I hold gauze to Mossie's belly and hold my breath as he pours blood into her slack mouth. Moments pass and she remains still. Amun motions fo
