“What are you doing?!" I groaned.
“Treating your wound!" she retorted, “what do you think I'm doing?"
Josh snickered, 'Or, what do you want her to do?'
'Josh, just be quiet for a f*****g moment, would you?!'
By the time I turned my focus back to Mira, she was already done with all my buttons. I hissed as she peeled back the fabric that was stuck to the wound. The arrow had been crude but effective, its barbed head designed to inflict maximum damage.
“Sit down," Mira led me to a stack of wooden crates and tore a strip from the bottom of her shirt. “This is going to hurt."
She began to clean the wound with gentle strokes. Bolts of pain radiating up my arm, but I clenched my jaw and bore it in silence.
“Damn it, the cut is turning black," she gasped, “it's poisonous!"
As she said it,
