*Merida*
It was the third day after I had arrived at the hospital when I caught my first glimpse of Captain Blake Moonshadow, sitting up in a corner, feverish. His arm had become infected, but he had stubbornly refused any sort of treatment until those around him was tended to.
By the time he finally relented, the physicians wanted to amputate. He had been as determined to keep his arm as he had been to keep his leg. He had proven to them that he still retained use of it, convincing them to work to save it.
“I could treat two more men in the time it will take me to try to save that arm," One doctor had pointed out.
“Then treat them," Blake had retorted. “And come back to me when you are done. But I swear to you that I will make saving my arm worth the military’s bother."
I had assisted
