“I’ve been watching you favor your left side since Tuesday. The gait change was subtle but consistent.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because every time I’ve had thirty seconds alone with you, someone needed a stupid briefing or a perimeter adjustment.” The antiseptic went on. She hissed through her teeth. “Running an alliance from opposite ends of the same camp is remarkably effective at preventing personal conversations.”
“So you just carried a medical kit around waiting for an opening?”
“I carried medical supplies because you are stubborn enough to walk on injured feet until they became a tactical liability, and I wanted to be prepared when you finally sat still long enough.”
“That’s very...”
“Practical.”
“I was going to say sweet.”
“Then I retract the explanation.”
“You didn’t tell Solomon,” I said.
“I specifically hid it from him. That one is sick in the head. He would have dismantled the drainage tunnel and rebuilt it with cushioned flooring.”
“He would have. And you should let him, because accepting help doesn’t diminish your strength.”
“Says the man who got stabbed in the chest and refused medical monitoring.”
“That was a tactical decision.”
“No, it’s stubbornness. Farmon said you are an impatient patient. Hear the irony?”
“Farmon is old in age, he exaggerates.”
“Hey, don’t insult the poor man. You and your tongue, really.”
I wrapped the gauze around her heel, tuning out her comments.
The second boot came off and this foot was worse. A bruise had formed along the outer edge where the boot’s failing sole had allowed rocks to press through. I cleaned it, dressed it, and wrapped it with the same care.
When I finished, I sat back on my heels and looked up at her.
Her eyes were wet. The precursor to crying, held back by the same force of will that kept her walking on destroyed feet for days without complaint.
“You are the most stubborn woman I have ever encountered in my entire existence,” I said. “And I have encountered several.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a diagnosis.”
The laugh that escaped her was small, surprised, pulled from somewhere she hadn’t expected to access after the morning she’d had. It lasted two seconds and I memorized every one.
“Come on,” I said. “You’re not walking back to camp on those.”
“I can walk.”
“I’m aware of your capabilities. I’m questioning the necessity.” I stood and extended my arms. “May I?”
She looked at my arms. Then at my face. The question registered in the shift of her expression, the softening that preceded trust, the moment where the walls she maintained for self-preservation thinned by a fraction.
“You’re going to carry me?”
