Damn it... This is going to need stitching, but he hadn’t the supplies. With the treated bandage in hand, Jakob wraps the bandage around his son’s torso, as tightly as he could muster. That fabric was not meant for mending wounds; the blood seeped through almost immediately. Not good enough... But hopefully the pressure itself will hold for now.
With a huff, Jakob takes only a second to look over his son’s appearance. He’d grown so much... Dwyer’s father gently caressed his cheek for a moment, an unfamiliar gentleness in his voice.
“...Good. There’s a good lad. Keep it there, now.”
He uttered, Dwyer’s hand once again placed on his chest.
Although the opposing army had been mostly routed, the allied forces remained scattered. The pitiful, weak whinnies of Dwyer’s steed crying out not too far off from where they were.. Too many others were wounded. But Jakob didn’t care. He pointed directly to a soldier returning back to the encampment.
“You. Summon a horse and fetch me a stave, a vulnerary, and bandages.”
The soldier, armor scuffed and exhausted, took a moment before he recognized that he was being spoken to. He looked puzzled as he processed Jakob’s words.
The hapless lancer dashed off, with a salute.
Turning his attention back to Dwyer, Jakob cradled his son in his arms.
“Boy, the battlefield was never meant for you...” He whispered as the emotions washed over him. The enemy soldier was dead, but not soon enough. He never should have been able to break their formation and hit their support. How could he have been so careless...?
Jakob moved a strand of Dwyer’s hair out of his face. He always did hate those unruly locks.
“No more talk of joining us here from now on, understand?” Agh, damn it... Is all he can do lecture him?
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