30 July, evening; Convalescing

Despite Mathilde's newly assumed duties, her mother was not so lenient as to allow her to shirk all her former tasks, and so it was that she hurried through the washing and came rushing back to the wagon. A quick peek inside assured her that its occupant was resting, but her mother had not yet returned which left dinner still to be cooked, and reluctantly she let the flap drop closed again.

They had little enough, but rummaging through their supplies, she found they had enough random bits of things to make a tolerable soup, and broth was supposed to be good to eat when one was hurt or sick, wasn't it? Besides, once she added the water, it would would have to sit for a fair bit to cook down, which meant...

"Jérémie?" she called very softly, poking her head over the side of the wagon.

If it wasn't for Suie, Jérémie reckoned he would most likely still be fitfully dozing. But the dark-furred kitten had decided it was a good idea to bat at Jérémie's face until he awakened. Then, with an impatient mew, the kitten head-bopped him in the chin.

His reflex was to swat at his tormenter but in his half-awake state, he did so with his left hand and was instantly rewarded with a great flare of agony in his arm and shoulder.

"Christ," Jérémie groaned, unable to keep reactive tears from coming to his eyes. Oh God it hurt. Where was his head? He should have known better - and hell, Mathilde was there now. He swiped hastily at his face with his good hand and hoped she was not looking too closely.

"I'm up."

Mathilde let out a soft gasp and scrambled up into the wagon. " No, no, don't get up! What is it? Your arm?"

"It's nothing," he said quickly, trying to nonchalantly slip his left arm down out of immediate sight. "Just Suie being a pest."

Mathilde was having none of it, however. "No," she countered, shifting closer, "Let me see. Is it bleeding again?"

It was, but he dared not be so honest. "I don't know. It's just an ache."

His face was on fire, however, and that was as ever a sure giveaway about how he was feeling. Still. He levered himself up a little and tried, again, to shoo Suie away.

Just an ache! She shook her head. "Lie. Down. And you --" she scooped Suie up and set him behind her, "Go torment your brothers." Turning her attention back to Jérémie, she added, "I'm just going to look, alright?"

If he'd had the energy for it, he would have protested, but the truth was that he still felt weak and drained after his visit to Montreuil's wagon earlier. Of course, considering the sheer agony that resulted from that visit, it was no wonder he felt so. But the shrapnel had been found and removed, and that was something to be grateful for. However much the process had felt like torture.

"It's not... there's nothing to see. Please." Jérémie did at least oblige by lying down again, but the thought of her seeing what was under his shirt and the rough bandage left him with a feeling of horror.

Mathilde hesitated, a worried crease forming between her brows, then somewhat more uncertainly she reached forward again to pull back the edges of his shirt. "I'll be very careful. I promise."

He was not reassured, but his attempt to lift his hand to stop her was interrupted by a swat from Suie. The kitten was determined to get attention and the warning bat from his paw contained claws. Jérémie hissed and tried to shoo the kitten away, only to be rewarded for his effort by a quick nip.

"It's fine. Leave it. Please." But the words were useless. His shirt was now opened. All he could do was close his eyes against the inevitable pain of the dressing being removed.

Mathilde bit her lip. Beneath the shirt, she could see the blood beginning to soak through the bandages in places which was not good. "It is bleeding," she told him. Which meant she would have to replace the dressings which would hurt, and the last thing in the world she wanted to do was hurt Jérémie. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, then added, "I do know how. To change it, I mean. The dressing. I'll be quick. And very gentle."

Both hands curled up into fists, but he made no further moves. It was not as though he could honestly prevent her from helping. Anyway, even trying to do so wouldn't be wise in the long run.

He drew in a quick breath and braced himself for it.

She unwound the bandages, careful not to tug them or jar the wounds with her hands. Then came the dressings themselves. Gingerly Mathilde began to lift the edge of one, only to feel it stick.

"Maudit..." she murmured, pursing her lips.

She hesitated, aware that ever moment she delayed was prolonging the ordeal, then quickly reached across Jérémie for the canteen which lay there. She'd seen her mother do it once before, but she had no idea if she could carry it off.

Working her way around, she continued to lift the edges of the dressing, then poured a very small amount of water over the part which was sticking. She waited another moment, then took hold of the cloth and lifted it away.

It was going to hurt. He knew that. So far, there had not been anything that hadn't. All the same, Jérémie was not quite prepared for the sharp, knife-like sensation when the dressings were pulled away. It had been as gently as possible, he knew, but it still felt like part of his very skin was being wrenched apart.

"Christ," he hissed, biting hard down on his lip to keep from uttering the oath any louder. But it was done. At least for his arm. "Please. Cover it again and let it be?"

Mathilde was no stranger to wounds or blood, but she could not keep back a quiet sound of dismay at the sight of what lay beneath the dressing. "Your poor arm," she breathed, then pulling herself together, added contritely, "I will. But I have to remove the other dressing first."

Something very like a low whine of protest formed in the back of his throat. He'd had nearly more than he could stand of people messing about with his arm and leg. Hadn't he endured enough agony today?

"It's not all gone?" He was wishing he'd ignored Suie and thus avoided drawing attention to himself. "Can't it just be left alone?"

Poor thing! "No. But it's nearly over," she assured him, wishing all the while that she could, indeed, leave it.

The next dressing went more quickly, but still required the application of the water and the horrible, final tug to lift it free. But it was done, and Mathilde slowly let out the breath she had been holding. "There. That's the worst over."

Even with his eyes closed, involuntary tears still formed behind his eyelids and threatened to leak out. He'd had to tense up every muscle in order to keep from twitching in reflexive resistance when the last dressing was removed.

Over. She said it was over. Even knowing who it was saying the words, Jérémie could not help feeling a flicker of doubt, though he was instantly ashamed of doing so.

"Thank God."

Dropping her left hand into his, she squeezed it gently, gathering up one of the bandages which had been used to hold the dressing in place with her other hand and beginning to dry the area around the wounds. Had she been mending a moth's wing, she could not have worked more delicately.

Fresh dressings would be needed next, and blessedly her mother's supply of bandage and scrap linen was near to hand. It was the work of a few moments to set those over the wounds and then it was left only to bind them in place. "Nearly finished."

Nearly finished. This was good. Very good. Jérémie returned the squeeze and drew in a breath. "All right. Thank you."

Suie was back, head-bopping the side of Jérémie's face before going straight to the business of washing Jérémie's forehead.

"There," she said, tucking away the end of the last bandage. She peered at him anxiously. He did not look at all well -- understandable after that, but worrisome all the same. "Would you like--" Wait. Yes, her mother must have gone scavenging, because her tonnelet was still there. "Would you like some brandy?" she finished awkwardly.

Brandy. It was a tempting offer, but the last time he'd had a cup, it had helped put him to sleep. Right now, the pain aside, he did not wish to sleep.

"No. But thank you." Jérémie paused, hesitating. The rough scrape of Suie's tongue had likewise paused as the kitten encountered his hairline. "May... is my pack anywhere nearby?"

"Yes, it's here." She started to reach for it, then hesitated, afraid if she gave it to him, it would only encourage him to move and hurt himself again. "What do you want from it?"

"My tools. But they're heavy." Even with only one arm, he felt that he might as well attempt to repair his shoes and, in the process, make good on his promise to teach her the trade. It was a better use of time than sleeping anyway, he thought wryly.

His tools? Mathilde frowned uncertainly. "Alright. But... Only if you promise not to try to move your arm."