*Isla*
Poppy groans as I help her sit up in bed, her face twisting with discomfort. While my magic was about to heal the stab wounds across her belly, she is still recovering from the black and blue bruises that cover her entire abdomen. She looks terrible, but I do my best not to make a face as I lift up her shirt to look at the… c*****e. That’s the only way I can describe it.
“I’ll live, Isla,” she rasps, rolling her eyes as she playfully swats my hand away.
“Pardon me for being worried about you, Poppy,” I tease, sitting down on the edge of her bed with a sigh. I glance at the warrior sitting on a stool by the door, his legs crossed and his head hanging as he sleeps.
We made it through the day. No one else had been attacked. But I can’t help but feel like this is far from over.
