20 Shauna
Philippe carries me through the woods away from the clearing. We don’t say anything for a while. I try not to think about the way he smells. Sweat, fire, and the lingering smells of his father’s merchant cart – ginger, and thyme, and clove. “I can’t carry you anymore. I’m sorry,” he says, slowly placing me on a rock beside the path.
I can’t look at him. I keep my eyes down, trying to find a part of my dress that isn’t stained that I can use on my foot. Blood is already seeping through the second bandage.
He stops me from wrapping the scrap around my foot. “Wait, we need to see how bad it is. You can’t ride like this.”
“I don’t know if I can look at it,” I say, glancing at the stained red wrapping.
“It’s okay. I will work on it,” he says. “Is it okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s o
