[color=#c89594]”Mmhm, sure you are,”[/color] Beninga replied to him sarcastically. It was obvious from a mile away that the boy was in bad shape. Stupid boys. She though, always trying to act tough. Carefully she adjusted her shoulders so that his weight was better distributed, he wasn’t exactly light for the small girl. Still, she trudged on. What should have been a less than a minutes’ walk quickly became 5, his clearly injured leg falling beneath him certainly wasn’t helping matters. 

[color=#0B614B]”Why are you helping me?”[/color] The boy’s question was pretty broken and his accent thick, but Beninga did manage to grasp what he said. Instantly she realised that he must not have been Whoylandean. Though frankly, she didn’t know what else there was. Under the strict and fearful roof of her father Beninga hadn’t exactly received a worldly education, between the cleaning and the beatings.

[color=#c89594]”Why..?”[/color] She was a bit dumbfounded at the question. As if, somehow, his state wasn’t reason enough. What else was she supposed to do? Let him die there and stink up the whole street until some worker picked him up? Besides that, the wounds of Beninga’s family were still fresh with her and the idea of witnessing yet more tragedy did not sit well. [color=#c89594]“Well, because you like you need some help…”[/color] Her expression became somewhat downcast, [color=#c89594]”I mean we’re all out here together aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean we should look out for each other?”[/color]Just as Beninga finished her sentence the pair made it to the torn up rug she called home and she carefully set him down. Quickly she pulled her box out of the vent where she left and started digging for a rag and some of the sponge cake.

[color=#0B614B]”Are you ok?”[/color] She was half-knelt down in front of him when she simply offered a nod as an answer. Once on the ground beside him Beninga applied some spit to the already rather dirty rag and started wiping the blood and grime from his face, being as gentle as she could. And humming the entire time. Once she was done with his face she handed him one of the wrapped pieces of cake.

[color=#c89594]”Here, this’ll make you feel better,”[/color] She nearly sang, clearly still stuck in humming mode before tending to his injured leg. Something of the situation reminded her of how things use to be, when she was often seen tending to the wounds of her mother or siblings. Though, the tools at hand were certainly more sanitary back then.