' youβll exhaust yourself into illness. ' / @anmehil ( from ren. )
Some part of her knows that to be case, try as she might to ignore the buried truth in Ren's words. His concern is sweet, albeit misplaced. She wasn't raised to be a slouch, not when others around her put in the hard work. β Hmβ¦ and if I do, at least I'll 'ave you to take care of me. Again. β She teases, stirring a pot of stew she's spent the better part of the day throwing together. β Although, I'd really be of no use to you then. Maybe then you can finally be rid of me. β
She's stopped counting the days after ten; maybe it was more than that if she includes the days she was knocked out cold. Showing up uninvited and bleeding all over his floor is certainly a way to get know one another⦠She's already thanked him several times for bothering to care for her when letting her die might have been the easier choice. Had the roles been reversed, she isn't entirely sure she would extend such kindness. ( He's a good man. Better than most. )
The first few days were a pain; it became easier after that. Caught off guard by a uncoordinated bunch of bandits and she's ashamed to say they got one over on her. Her side was split, and as she leaked blood all over herself and Ren's floor, he did what he felt was needed to keep her alive. When she moves a little too far to one side, or twists the wrong way, she can feel the muscles straining to remain connected. β It's stew, Ren. I can make stew, but if it'll make you feel any better, I'll just watch you do all the 'ard work tomorrow, aye? β Not that she would mind, but that's a thought she keeps to herself.