Hajin woke beneath the tree with Juna's hand draped across his fingers while a sentry turned beyond the dying embers. His left hand twitched toward his belt for a knife, then stopped, finding only the blanket and her warm palm.
'I slept without a blade under my hand, and nobody even stabbed me for it.'
Five hours passed, and the splinted arm refused to pretend that a nap counted as a cure.
Vella was already kneeling at his shoulder, checking the dressing before he finished sitting up and swearing at the binding. Morning light crept between the wagons while other wounded men tested their own limbs with exactly the same ugly caution.
Juna stayed against his good shoulder until both his feet were planted beside the boulder.
"Seven hours short," Vella said, cinching the outer binding tight enough to make him hiss through his teeth.
"You owe your body the rest, even if it cannot collect before we travel."
"Put it on my tab."
