Hajin woke before the horn and reached for yesterday's cloth, feeling the scab tug at his lower lip.
Juna snatched his wrist before his fingers got there, "Leave it closed, you'll grind sand straight into it."
She dropped a clean corner beside his hand and dangled the old one, stiff with yesterday's blood, as proof.
"I was checking whether it still belonged to me," he croaked, lowering his fingers.
"It does," Loccy said, rubbing an oiled rag over her hammerhead, "though it looks like you tried kissing the captain's sword."
Hajin barked a laugh until the cut pulled tight, then froze with one hand hovering over his mouth.
"Ow, shit—the sword made the first move, I swear."
"Next time, put this between your faces," she offered, hoisting the hammerhead proudly clear of the blanket.
"Then we'll need a new sword."
Juna caught the shaft before it swung across their bowls, ears pinned flat with pure disapproval.
