Snippet #2811830

She was trembling. Eilin only registered this as she began to sink down into the bedding around her, the pressure on her wound as Sverre worked to clean it almost soothing after the handling of the arrow itself. Right at that moment she couldn't tell if her muscles were reacting to the high stress, if she was getting cold again, or if it was simply the exhaustion that made it difficult to stay completely still. Perhaps it was a mixture of multiple reasons.

Her breath hitched from time to time as she worked to stabilize it. Eventually, the pain resolved itself into a dull ache, the area around the injury feeling almost numb after the handling of the day.

If she registered the soft brush of his hand over her hair, freeing it from her forehead, she didn't show it. A day ago she would have likely tried to stab him, but she was in no position to attempt a fight, let alone hope to win one. And his words were met with a simple huff of annoyance.

"Sverre..." she spoke. "Always the hero." It was unclear whether the words were an insult, a friendly jab, or her remembering the old days. She was not conscious long enough to explain herself as the weariness of the day finally fell over her like a soft blanket, carrying her away from reality.