25
- 25 -
He must have slept.
Rodin remembered closing his eyes. The sun had been low in the sky, barely risen. But now, it was high overhead. Hours had passed.
He stretched, feeling the rock of the cliff behind his back. His limbs were still sore, but there was improvement. Tired, but not shattered. The worst of the pain was in his shoulder.
Rodin removed his jacket, then his top, easing it from the skin on his shoulder, feeling where sticky moisture held the fabric down. He reached his fingers round to explore, reading himself for the rawness.
The cut was not long, but it went deep. The edges were crusted and moist at the same time, not yet starting to heal, too much fluid still seeping out. Every time he moved, the cut shifted.
A blade then, not a bullet. At least he wouldn’t nee
