Rhea Everwood
The scent of antiseptic and the faint, coppery tang of fresh blood filled the air I breathed in. I watched, a knot of worry still tight in my chest, as Dr. Dawn, efficiently wrapped Sage’s hand. His fingers moved with ease, securing the bandage around his palm where the arrow had grazed him.
“You are lucky, Sage,” Dr. Dawn’s voice was calm as he locked his eyes with him, “That arrow wasn’t poisoned. You need to be careful with this hand for the next few days, keep it clean, and not put any strain on it. We want that wound to heal quickly.”
Lucky. The word echoed in my mind. Lucky that it wasn’t worse, lucky that he was still standing here beside me knowing that I was the source of his current predicament, I wondered what could have happened if he hadn’t intervened. My gaz
