Ember wasn't nearly as skilled as Hael when doing sutures, nor was he as careful. I suspected it was due to the leather gloves he refused to remove that he lacked precision.
Our fire crackled beside us, flickering orange and gold across my bare chest while Ember balanced between wiping away my blood and threading his needle into my skin. I did my best not to quake from the pain, but my sensitive body had not the will of my mind. The wide tree was sharp against my back, the bark prickly and digging into my skin, and I tried to focus on the micro tears I knew I was receiving rather than Ember's inept work.
I'd tended to my abdomen myself, and everywhere else Ember had felt the need to torture me earlier to save our lives. But it'd been too challenging to care for my chest without a mirror to guarantee accuracy.
