Snippet #2811818

The trip back was fuzzy in her mind as Eilin drifted in and out of consciousness The further they walked, the less her injured shoulder hurt, it seemed, due to the cold numbing the pain. Why had he not taken the arrow out already? The question was fleeting and then she was unconscious again.

The next time Eilin stirred to the world, she was no longer moving but was propped up on her side. The air surrounding her was much warmer, setting in a deep ache of her shoulder as she began to try and piece together what was going on. The room was swimming still, alerting her to the fact that she either lost entirely too much blood or else there was something else at play.

First things first, she was back at the inn. She could tell by the smell of the place. Yet this was not her room. A movement out of the corner of her eye alerted her to company as Sverre came to her side, a glint of the blade catching her eye before his words registered. Damn it all, why did it have to be him to find her? It was bad enough that she had to try and figure out who his pack was, for him to be trying to help her was infuriating. What was his end goal here? To burn another village to the ground? She wouldn't allow it.

Movement was painful, but she did manage a barely visible, terse nod of her head to him. Not like he could hurt her any worse than he and this arrow had already and if he was able to at least get the arrow out it would be easier to begin assessing the damage from there. The last thing on her mind was any tattoos from childhood that could possibly give away her identity.

Yet there it was, the simple line work of a wolf that had wrapped around the side of her neck since she was a child, looking over her and protecting her. Sverre had joked one day, when he first saw it, that the wolf must be him. A memory that soured when she first realized that those words did not point to him being some guardian for her, but a wolf he was. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

In her state, it took Eilin a moment to register the pause, assuming it came from seeing the wound up close and personal. It wasn't until he spoke her name that she felt a pit form in her stomach and her heart sink down into it as she realized what he was looking at. She had to close her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill again. She hadn't heard her name spoken like that in years but she couldn't break down now, not in front of him.

To distract herself, and hopefully him, she did the only thing she could think of. Gingerly shifting her weight, she was able to balance herself into a half seated position. And seriously, why was the room spinning? No longer looking around, she steeled herself and gripped the front of the arrow protruding from her shoulder before she jerked her wrist, snapping the wood in half.

The action was painful. More painful than she could possibly prepare herself for, causing a muffled scream to escape her throat yet not her lips as she dropped her head, a sheet of black hair obscuring the pain on her face. At least if any tears presented themselves, they could now be explained away on the pain.

"Just get the arrow out," she grit through her teeth at Sverre. If he was so intent on helping her, he could at least do that. Slowly lifting her head, she did her best to brace herself. This part was possibly going to hurt even more, but the worst of it would be over after that and she seemed more eager on that than looking Sverre in the eye. Or looking at him at all, apparently, for she was inspecting the tip of the arrow, turning it over in her hand while she waited.