The following days passed in a blur. Richard lay in bed and Katrina came every couple of hours to tend his wounds or feed him. He saw how she crushed cabbage leaves with clean water to make a paste, which she applied to his wounds before she dressed them. Before long, he yearned for her gentle touch and kind words.
After a week, or perhaps two, Richard finally felt strong enough to venture out of his room. But before he could put the plan into action Katrina entered his room carrying a bowl of soup.
“Good morning, Katrina,” he greeted her with a smile.
“You’re feeling better, Richard.”
“How do you know my name?”
Her cheeks turned a sweet pink and she pointed at his clean uniform, neatly folded across a chair. “I took the liberty of searching your pockets before washing it.”
Richard m
