Half of his humor turned into disbelief. It was his welfare she was concerned about, of all things. Leone almost dismissed her words to keep the attention as far as he could from himself, but words pooled in his mouth, dark and sour like vinegar. He worried at his lower lip, painted black. He waited for a moment to seize and use to his advantage, anything to avoid this scrutiny and the ill sensation twisting in his stomach.
Candlelights blinked at a distance, casting long shadows in the room. All ornaments came to new life, showered in gold and static. Leone followed the trail of his own blood as her hands dosed water to his wound. The water turned to a reddish color, not quite true to his guts but somewhere near the violent ache his flesh remembered, when the arrow struck him clean. Even if her delicate hands were soft and caring, the severity of the blood tainting her tender skin cancelled every feeling of peace. More so when she neared the arrow’s sharp point, which he hadn’t managed to pull out yet.
“Right. Worth it.” Leone echoed after the stretched out pause. “Just get that shit out. I need to get back, and soon. Hurts like hell, so I’d rather you make it quick.”
He ached for freedom, to go back to the parade grounds, where the rest of his soldiers awaited for him. He knew what they’d done: their swords pushed the enemy troops to surrender, down to their knees.
At the cost of his right arm, which he supposed would be out of commission for the subsequent weeks, and a handful of men that he regretted not having seen off due to his own injuries, the Crimson King’s territory expanded. Leone’s armor was cast off time ago, he’d stripped off to his casual garments.
He missed the solid presence and security of his shell, the comfortable weight of the sword on his side. Leone hissed when Reimi’s fingers grazed the exposed tissue a second time. Her attempts to subdue the pain fell short, but Leone bit back any more complaints. He could sense hair sticking to his forehead, cold sweat dampening his face. Whatever he looked like right now, it mustn’t be graceful. He barked out a sarcastic laugh. “Shit. Not sure if I should call myself lucky. The arrow didn’t get my good arm. But this? An inch lower and that asshole would’ve gotten my wrist.”
ㅤ ㅤTerrifying sounds of battle made up the cruel symphony of war, but totally unable to reach her ears. All Reimi could capture was the cries and screams of the wounded who kept coming. Voices called her name, faltering hands tried to hold her simple clothes in one last desperate request for help. Still, she managed to keep her mind focused, gentle hands working almost unconsciously after a few years of experience. Some were already out of reach but that did not discourage her from trying. Even after the last breath of life left those bodies she repeated the procedures again and again, only then to go to the next makeshift bed and start the delicate, thorough process one more time. There was no space in her mind to mourn, they would have their time to mourn the dead later — but the carefully constructed mental fortress collapsed like a house of cards when she realized that the next soldier to be carried into the room was Leone.
ㅤ ㅤThe vibrant red of the blood stood out horribly, his face contorted in a grimace of pain was even worse. A shiver ran down her spine, her legs about to lose the forces and keep her from standing — no, she couldn't afford to falter now. A finger pointed to the nearest bed, water and clean cloths made available by anonymous hands. Her gaze met his, impossible to hide her fright, but Reimi did her best to show that she was in control of the situation, as she always did. The arrow stuck in his flesh was a bad omen in itself, his face paler than usual, lips that trembled because of the suffering... She searched for something to say, her mouth hanging open but even those seconds were precious, so she preferred to invest all her energy in analyzing the situation. Not good. Without the necessary strength to pull the arrow out in a quick gesture, she offered some words of comfort. Leone would need to forgive her for inflicting that excruciating pain, since she couldn't forgive herself.
ㅤ ㅤThe cloth used to dry her hands was dyed red, the sweet and metalic smell dominating the room. Permission to act was all that Reimi heard, but she was forced to stop at the absurd idea he had just revealed. ❝ You will not come back! ❞ Her voice, originally alarmed, managed to take on the form of a firm rebuke halfway. Leone had lost his mind. Impossible to leave that room without help, returning to the battlefield would be a death sentence. ❝ You will bleed to death if you make a sudden move, I won’t even let you try. ❞ Reimi lacked the authority that seemed so natural in his countenance, her delicate appearance and soft manners did not help either, but in that room her word was law. No one would do anything without her permission, not when their physical and mental integrity was at stake. He would not be the exception, in fact he was now the epicenter of that small private universe, she would not leave his side until she was completely sure that he was safe and sound.
ㅤ ㅤHis laughter found no echo in her, the bitter words found no fertile soil in her mind. Only a piece of his statement had effect, the worst possible, a whole horrible picture drawing before her eyes in seconds. ❝ Please, don’t even say that. ❞ Her voice was anguished, a painful entreaty, so low that Leone was only able to hear because of the short distance between them. She didn't want to think about what would happen if the arrow had been more judicious in choosing the target. He would probably die before he could look her in the face again. ❝ Here we go— ❞ Reimi gripped the rod tightly but with ability, pulling it out from his side in a more or less clean gesture. It wasn't as fast as it should have been, the pain would hit him without mercy, but there was no time to ask for help. ❝ You are fine, you are fine! ❞ Words repeated in an attempt to comfort him but without actually stopping to do so, she was already gathering everything that was needed to sew the wound.
