[Arry]

With the help of Galhardir, Annû had made it to his room. A fierce, generalized ache and hurt had begun to assail him where the traitorous Lossoth had landed his hard blows, and already the purplish spread of new bruises had begun to creep across the pummeled areas. He would be sore for a while, but the bruises would fade, the ache recede, in time. What worried him the most was the wound from the man’s knife.

With careful fingers, he peeled off the temporary bandage Galhardir had applied, a wadding of clean rags bound on with the belt Annû wore. The flow of blood from the wound had slowed to an occasional oozing. It was not a large cut nor had it gone in particularly deep he saw, as he twisted this way and that to see it in the room’s small mirror. But even this soon the edges of it looked red and angry, and the serous fluid did not run clear but was tinged with a yellow color. He cleaned it as best he could, with water from the jug and a rag. Some folded strips from an old clean towel served as a bandage, with one longer band of it to tie about him. Fishing through his pack he found a soft, loose tunic to pull on.

His movements were stiff from his bruises and the wound, but he steeled himself against the hurt, and walked carefully to the galley to find food and drink. Many of the crew were already there. He nodded to those who called out to him and passed by them as quickly as he could. Taking a bowl of the inevitable chowder, a chunk of ship’s bread, and a mug of tea, he made his solitary way back to his quarters.