Nellie
Nellie stared at the wound, trying to reconcile the image before her with the pictures she had seen in the medical textbooks, and the light wounds she had dressed during training. There was little else for it but to start, and after a moment's warning about the pain to follow she began to switch the wound. Removing the arrowhead was out of the question on the bumpy, moving train. But she could help close the wound to keep it sealed for a better time.
"When will we reach Sir Kosovo's abode? Nightfall? Tomorrow morning?"
"This is the express, sah, lucky for us. No stops between us and Draxton. We should get there early tomorrow mornin'" Nellie explained, cutting her explanation short as she bit off the length of stitch. It really was a miracle invention, this locomotive. Just a generation ago it would have taken a week to get from the capitol to Draxton by coach, and now it could be done in half a day.
"I wonder where the wolf got off to, eh?"
Nellie couldn't say, the last she had seen was Mr. Kosovo talking to her. Perhaps she had felt she had done her bit and tried to make her own way out of the city? She told the Prince as such before returning to her bench, wound dressed.