“He can still sit upright,” said Mawana, moving Linh’s blood-soaked handful of tunic and replacing it with a wad of linen. “The wound can’t be too deep. Best he sleeps it off.”
“What?” Troy asked.
“Hold this,” Mawana told Linh, who bit her lip and forced her trembling hands to reapply pressure to the wad of fabric Mawana held over Troy’s wound. Fiona stepped beside her, holding Troy’s hand, her eyes wide with worry.
“Lie down,” Mawana told Troy, who shifted and lay on the bed.
Mawana opened one of the trunks and fumbled for a moment, then returned to Troy’s side. “Drink this,” he said, offering Troy a wooden cup.
Troy took it and grimaced as he drank. Then Mawana took the cup back and Troy rested his head on the pillow.
“What was that?” Michael asked, as Troy’s eyes drooped.
“Sleepi
