>"Glad to hear it."
>And with Potty the Potted Plant safe, let's tend our wounds as best as we can. Since apparantly we hadn't yet since Sourfang forgot.
>With other matters dealt with, you try to tend to your wounds a little before you call it a night. You're honestly not in a very ideal position to do this - no reflective surface to look at your face, no ready source of water, and few medical supplies - but you make do. You pour a little water from your canteen onto the spare outfit that is quickly turning into a go-to rag, and try to clean your face. You hiss when you dab the gash on your forehead and the drying blood that was streaked across it soon soaks the cloth red, but you feel better by the time you're finished - particularly once your bang is no longer so matted and plastered against your face with the stuff. It's not exactly clean - that will take a proper washing - but it's a little less uncomfortable; you wonder just how ghoulish you must have looked to Grapefruit while you were talking to her. For her part, the fairy pulls a cloak over herself like a blanket while you work, settles onto her pillow with Thelonious's head in her lap, and is snoring within seconds. Rather loudly, in fact. But you're almost a little envious of the complete lack of worry on her little face.
>While your new companion sleeps, you take stock of your other wounds as best you can. It still hurts to move in a multitude of angles, but you can at least manage it without making noise, if you're gentle. Mostly. There are a variety of cuts and scrapes along your arms and legs, though the majority seem superficial; you wipe them with the cloth and bandage a couple of the worse ones. Gingerly poking your side, you strongly suspect that a couple of your ribs are cracked, though fortunately the break feels relatively slight; this could have ended a lot worse. You are bruised all over, of course, with some particularly nasty swelling on your right leg - and honestly, you still feel pretty miserable - but there's hope the morning will bring a decent improvement.
>Though by the time you are done, you wonder if you're traded looking grisly for just plain looking ridiculous; these yellow happy faced bandages feel obscenely cheerful for the circumstances and you can't help but feel a little absurd as you stare at the two on your leg. One of them is juxtaposed less than an inch from the ragged black brand of the blight, oblivious in its mirth to the death that is steadily creeping across you. But there's still some hope. If what Grapefruit said is right, then maybe tomorrow, you can finally put this saga to rest.
