The door slammed, vibrating the walls of the poorly built home. Vyn grabbed at her side with a tight grip and she grunted.

  The house was empty, much to her pleasure, giving her time to hunch to a chair without any witnesses. Tired and pained gasps left her voice as she reached for a cloth on the table, the weight of her hand slamming onto the wood from exhaustion. Fingers curling around the fabric, she pulled it over and placed it on her side, blood staining her hand with an iron smell.

  A soft knock came from the door, but she couldn't hear it. Her mind was too captivated by the pain she refused to fix up. The open wound she was determined to ignore.

  “Veevy?” Parth called, “Commander said you got back.”

  His head peeked from the door to look around the dark home. He almost missed his partner's silhouette in the dining room's shadows. Her strained breath gave her away. Parth was quick to light the candles and brought them to the table, seeing the stoic expression that was always practiced on Vyn’s face.

  “What happened out there?!” He exclaimed, reaching for the soaked cloth. Vyn slapped his hand away.

  “It was just an arrow. I didn’t dodge it.”

  “And you didn’t go to the medical building?” Parth’s hands dug through his bag.

  “Stop Par. It’s just a flesh wound. It’ll heal on its own. They always do.”

  “Yes, and you always get sick with infection when I leave you on your own.” He found what he was looking for, a small spindle of thread and a needle, as well as an ointment, “Lie down and lift your shirt, Veevy.” He instructed.

  “I said to leave it.” She insisted, switching the cloth out for another, though it was dirtied. Parth set his supplies on the table and cleared the area, only leaving the candle stand for the light.

  “And I said to lie down.”

  “Parth.”

  “Vyn.”

  Both sent glares through each other, neither one willing to move.

  “You win every time. Let me win for once.” He finally sighed. Vyn sat for a moment, the pain pulsing in her wound. Her shoulders sank as she got up, Parth helping her to lie down. She took his bag to use as a pillow as she carefully released the pressure from her wound, gasping from the cold air and small threads that stuck to dried blood.

  Parth took the cloth and set it aside, pulling clean ones from a shelf in the corner of the room meant for the kitchen. Right now they were meant for blood.

  “Lift your shirt.” He repeated, more softly this time.

  “Try having a wound on your side that affects every movement you make.” She snipped but obeyed anyway. The wound reached from her stomach to around her back, curving to create a wide gap between her skin.

  “You’re stupid for trying to let this one slide.”

  He got out his ointment and rubbed it on a cloth, dabbing the wound gently to get the dried blood cleaned, then threaded his needle.

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  “Bite the strap of the bag. I don’t have any alcohol for you.”

  “I don’t need alcohol, I need to be knocked out!”

  “Bite.”

  She groaned from deep inside her but took the strap and placed it in her mouth. Before he took the thread, he carefully laid a hand on her waist. As he expected, she flinched away at the lighted graze of his touch. He tried once more and received the same reaction. He placed his hand in his lap, “I need both hands to stitch.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Now that you know there’s a needle in my hand, you won’t sit still, and I can't give you my hand to squeeze to death.”

  She pushed herself up, blood gushing out from the wound again, “What do you expect me to do?! Sit still while you puncture my skin to somehow make it better?”

  She slumped back onto the table from the pain. He cleaned it immediately.

  “You become such a child when you’re hurt.” He muttered, “The wound will blacken and you will get a worse infection with this. It’s too large.”

  “Let the infection come. I should pay for not being attentive and letting an arrow pierce me!”

  He ignored her, “Bite.”

  She listened and took the strap back. This time he didn’t reach to stitch. He went past the flinch of her reaction and gently brushed the small of her back.

  “What are you—”

  “Quiet.”

  She sighed and sat still, looking away from him. He kept at the motion for a moment. “We pushed past the mountains today. The snow has all melted and the rivers are starting to warm up.” He started. Vyn was quiet. “We spotted a bear. It had two cubs with her. We almost orphaned them, but I ordered to ignore them. We found a male bear about an hour later and hunted it instead. It should be enough to feed everyone for the week.”

  He slowly took his second hand and just placed it beside her, his first hand beginning to trail down to the wound. He could feel her now begin to tremble than flinch but trembling he could still work, even if the trembling was a pierce through his own heart. “Nikolai caught about two baskets of salmon as well They’re starting to come out now. We’ll be able to have some tonight while Mandy gathers the band. Everyone’s pushed the Commander for a small celebration and he finally agreed.”

  Needle in hand, he placed his fingers around the wound. He made the first stitch, Vyn straining against a cry as he did. He continued to speak as he worked, “While out hunting I found a clearing. You would love it, and I’ll be sure to take you there. It’s a field covered entirely with wildflowers. All colors I believe you would like.

  “Lilies?” She croaked, biting down as he made another stitch.

  “Yes, there were lilies. Yellow ones in the valley, as their name suggests. It was there I also saw a rabbit. And many kits. Older kits though. Not quite young enough to own one. Unless you want to train an adult and hope it obeys.

  Vyn managed to laugh. "They would obey me."

  "And not me?"

  "Too gentle."

  Parth smiled. He had gotten to the last stitches, making sure the whole time he was working swiftly to end this. "I'll be sure to bring one back then next time I'm out."

  He tied off the last stitch, cutting the thread with his teeth. He got the ointment once more and dabbed it above the wound, making sure it was thickly coated. "Sit up."

  He took one of her hands and helped to keep her straight, sitting on the edge of the table. He searched through his bag once more and pulled out a roll of bandages. "Keep the shirt up, even if it hurts."

  "I'm trying."

  "I know."

  He began to wrap her waist, careful to make it tight while also comfortable. It stained red at the wound.

  "Ok. Done."

  Vyn dropped her arms and slouched, heavy breaths coming through her nose. She stared at the ground, pain a shameful thing for her.

  Parth reached a hand for her knee, but she shook her head. "Stand up."

  Parth was quiet and obeyed, pushing the seat away. He knew what this command was, and he was glad she was instructing him.

  Vyn weakly brought her arms up to his shoulders, pulling him towards her.

  "You'll tear—"

  "Shut up."

  Parth did. He held her as long as she needed while being mindful of her stitching. He didn't point out her shaking, or the wet patch that grew on his shoulder, or the small whimpers that sounded in the silent house.