You follow Lada out of the oppressive air of the medical tents and deeper into camp. Men offer you salutes as you pass.
Your troops still seem to be riding off the high of their victory.
She takes you to an area toward the center of camp where the nobles have established their makeshift district. She brings you to a specific pavilion which flies the banner of House Janowitz.
The interior is luxurious for a pavilion. Not extravagant, but rich in a practical sense. A fur bedroll sits on either far side of the structure. Stands of armor and weapons decorate the far wall. Equipment for the maintenance of said arms and armor are scattered across the floor.
Lada pushes some of it out of the way with her foot. "That's Milon's shit," she says, gesturing to the equipment. "Asshole keeps leaving it on my side of the tent."
She kneels down on her bed and pats a space in front of her. "C'mon. Let's get ya patched up." After a pause, she adds, "And I'm not gonna… do anything, okay? I'm just here to patch you up. That's it. I promise."
After a moment of hesitation, you approach and kneel down, facing her. Lada takes off a satchel slung over her shoulder and sets it in front of you. With one hand, she opens it up and searches through it.
You slip off your nightshirt. Lada examines you for a few moments, only occasionally running a finger over a bruise or wound. Finally, she sits back, content with her examination.
"You're bruised all over. Some small cuts. Shit… your lip is split pretty bad, too. Doesn't look like it'll need stitches, though." She runs a rag over your face, trying to wipe away some of the blood. "You're in need of a wash, as well," she says with a small chuckle.
"No shit."
She ignores your comment and instead focuses on your eye. "Looks like yer gonna have a black eye, too. Not much I can do about that. Those cuts, though, are gonna need to have some whiskey on 'em. It should keep the rot away."
You sigh.