A day later, steady rain still pummeled the ship, but the wind and rough seas had abated, somewhat. The sun tried to shove its way through the grey blanket, but the clouds refused it.
The ship’s surgeon examined Landon’s head, touching a large lump on his temple. “It hasn’t changed since last night, a good sign. We’ll just have to wait it out,” he said, packing up the wooden carrier holding his surgeon’s supplies. “That large bruise on his upper back and shoulder may be hiding a broken bone or rib, but it’s the hit on the head to worry about.”
“How long until he wakes?” Keelan asked, dreading the answer.
“Don’t know.” He shook his head, turning toward the door. “He may not.”
Two days later, Landon still hadn’t moved nor made another sound since he’d been placed on his bed; not when the
