Senna
He was heavy. Too heavy. Each step bringing a fresh throb from my own tired muscles, but nothing compared to the hole ripped into his side. I didn’t know how he was still conscious, not really. He just moved, one foot in front of the other, a low grunt the only sound he made.
We made it inside the cottage. I half-carried, half-dragged him to the cot I usually kept for supplies. He collapsed onto it. His breath hitched, a thin rasping sound that meant pain, deep pain.
I didn't waste time. My hands moved on their own, pulling out clean cloths, antiseptic I made myself, the special herbs for deep wounds.
He was shivering, sweat beading on his forehead even as a fever started to set in. I worked fast, cleaning, stitching, applying poultices that would draw out the infection. He whi
