the
ingredients."
"Think I'd die and didn't want to waste your
time?"
"Do not even think such things," he said
softly.
She held in a smile as he finished her other hand. He
just looked so serious, his brows drawn slightly together. She could almost
picture him sticking his tongue out a little as he concentrated.
He chuckled suddenly and released her hand. "Do
not get used to this."
She smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it."
He looked up and grinned at her, and it was such a
boyish, sweet smile it made her breath catch. Flustered, she looked away, her
gaze falling on the pile of cloth. She paled suddenly, as what they were, where
they had come from finally registered.
Scavenged he had said. From dead washed up on shore. Gah! Her stomach twisted at the image. Why did she have to be reminded about what
had happened?
"Aro? What's wrong?"
She looked away from the pile and shook her head
quickly. "Nothing."
"Let me look at your head."
She tilted her head, allowing him to better see the
cut she knew was on the side of her forehead. "Is it bad?"
He gave a little shrug as he cleaned it. "It is
deep. Long. It should be stitched. You will have a scar, but your hair should
hide most of it."
"Perfect," she muttered. She wasn't pretty
to begin with, and now both her hands and face would be scarred.
He began spreading on the paste. "This will help
quite a bit. It will both kill any infection already there, and prevent further
ones from occurring. It will also pull the wound together somewhat as it dries."
"If you say so."
"I do." He smiled slightly. "Leave it
be, until it turns almost white, and begins flaking off on its own." He
sat back and looked at her hands. "I think I will wrap your hands though.
It will help protect them."
She grimaced slightly, but nodded and tried not to
watch as he ripped strips and carefully wrapped her hands. "You know what
you're doing, too," she commented quietly.
He smiled again slightly.
"How is your arm?"
He looked down at it. "Fine."
He had finished with her hands. "Let me see."
He didn't protest as she took his arm and undid everything. The wrappings were
wet and she set them aside to examine his arm. It seemed to be healing well. It
hadn't become swollen or turned any strange colors. Prince handed her more
ripped cloth and she carefully re-wrapped his arm and put the greave back on.
She noticed suddenly, through the rips in his shirt, purple
paste streaked up the outside of his arms, from shoulder down to his elbow.
Memories of the sea and the rocks, of crashing and pain skittered through her
mind. Clenching her jaw tightly for a moment, she pushed the memories away.
She frowned suddenly. "How's your back?"
He opened his mouth slightly, closed it again and sighed.
"Will you look at it?"
She nodded and he turned. The back of his shirt was in
tatters. Brownish stains covered large areas, causing her to grimace. She
gently raised the bottom of his shirt up to sit on his shoulders. She cursed
the chains again. If they were gone he could have just taken the shirt off.
When she finally saw his back, curses erupted loudly
from her mouth before she could stop herself.
"Is it that bad?"
Tears formed and escaped as words caught in her
throat. She sat back, her hands to her mouth. He looked like he had been
whipped. His back was shredded and cut into ribbons. Patches of skin hung
loosely across his back. The rest had been scraped completely raw.
"Aro?"
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to
steady herself. "It's messy," she finally answered. How could he sit
there so still, so quiet? "Doesn't it hurt?"
"Very much," he said calmly.
Apparently, she didn't understand men at all. Or at
least not him.
She took another breath and leaned forward. He had
helped her, she would help him. Her conscience left her no choice in the matter.
It took a long time to clean it, to try to put pieces
back where they belonged, and keep them there while she applied the paste.
Breathing slowly
ingredients."
"Think I'd die and didn't want to waste your
time?"
"Do not even think such things," he said
softly.
She held in a smile as he finished her other hand. He
just looked so serious, his brows drawn slightly together. She could almost
picture him sticking his tongue out a little as he concentrated.
He chuckled suddenly and released her hand. "Do
not get used to this."
She smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it."
He looked up and grinned at her, and it was such a
boyish, sweet smile it made her breath catch. Flustered, she looked away, her
gaze falling on the pile of cloth. She paled suddenly, as what they were, where
they had come from finally registered.
Scavenged he had said. From dead washed up on shore. Gah! Her stomach twisted at the image. Why did she have to be reminded about what
had happened?
"Aro? What's wrong?"
She looked away from the pile and shook her head
quickly. "Nothing."
"Let me look at your head."
She tilted her head, allowing him to better see the
cut she knew was on the side of her forehead. "Is it bad?"
He gave a little shrug as he cleaned it. "It is
deep. Long. It should be stitched. You will have a scar, but your hair should
hide most of it."
"Perfect," she muttered. She wasn't pretty
to begin with, and now both her hands and face would be scarred.
He began spreading on the paste. "This will help
quite a bit. It will both kill any infection already there, and prevent further
ones from occurring. It will also pull the wound together somewhat as it dries."
"If you say so."
"I do." He smiled slightly. "Leave it
be, until it turns almost white, and begins flaking off on its own." He
sat back and looked at her hands. "I think I will wrap your hands though.
It will help protect them."
She grimaced slightly, but nodded and tried not to
watch as he ripped strips and carefully wrapped her hands. "You know what
you're doing, too," she commented quietly.
He smiled again slightly.
"How is your arm?"
He looked down at it. "Fine."
He had finished with her hands. "Let me see."
He didn't protest as she took his arm and undid everything. The wrappings were
wet and she set them aside to examine his arm. It seemed to be healing well. It
hadn't become swollen or turned any strange colors. Prince handed her more
ripped cloth and she carefully re-wrapped his arm and put the greave back on.
She noticed suddenly, through the rips in his shirt, purple
paste streaked up the outside of his arms, from shoulder down to his elbow.
Memories of the sea and the rocks, of crashing and pain skittered through her
mind. Clenching her jaw tightly for a moment, she pushed the memories away.
She frowned suddenly. "How's your back?"
He opened his mouth slightly, closed it again and sighed.
"Will you look at it?"
She nodded and he turned. The back of his shirt was in
tatters. Brownish stains covered large areas, causing her to grimace. She
gently raised the bottom of his shirt up to sit on his shoulders. She cursed
the chains again. If they were gone he could have just taken the shirt off.
When she finally saw his back, curses erupted loudly
from her mouth before she could stop herself.
"Is it that bad?"
Tears formed and escaped as words caught in her
throat. She sat back, her hands to her mouth. He looked like he had been
whipped. His back was shredded and cut into ribbons. Patches of skin hung
loosely across his back. The rest had been scraped completely raw.
"Aro?"
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to
steady herself. "It's messy," she finally answered. How could he sit
there so still, so quiet? "Doesn't it hurt?"
"Very much," he said calmly.
Apparently, she didn't understand men at all. Or at
least not him.
She took another breath and leaned forward. He had
helped her, she would help him. Her conscience left her no choice in the matter.
It took a long time to clean it, to try to put pieces
back where they belonged, and keep them there while she applied the paste.
Breathing slowly
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