Jane let out a few more heavy breaths, which were trying to conceal her crying. She pulled her hands away from her hair and looked at Shayre's dirty face. They were both a mess. What were they even going to do at this moment, in this place. . [i]get clean[/i]. Jane took the moss, not saying a word to Shayre, no thank you. Her face stayed solemn. She pressed the moss against her face, feeling a cool liquid seep through her skin. It was refreshing, like the the constant wind blowing. 

She wiped her face, feeling the breeze against her cheeks, again. She had not realize how disgusting her skin had been, how covered and smeared with dirt and ground. She had chosen her face first out of vanity. But really, she should have washed her leg first. Her survival instincts were giving in to her fainthearted chest flutters as she just began having the ability to catch her breath. 

She was holding off from having another mental break down. She kept questioning why she had to do this, with moss, why she was so dirty, why she was so tired, why she was so... much in pain. Jane drew in a deep breath as she stared at her leg. She looked at Shayre and gave out a hesitant look. She had tried to smile, almost to make it comical, but instead, her face just squinted in some painful array. She felt the, now warm moss press against her leg. The water stung, and hurt, like she was touching a sensitive bruise. She clenched her teeth together, "Tsss-," she drew the moss away from her leg. Her panting got heavier, as she lost her breath, again. 

Jane dabbed the moss against her leg, again. She clutched her leg with her other hand as she dabbed the wound, squeezing the moss to let water trickle out over the wound. The water tickled down her leg while her hand clutching her leg, squeezed the circulation and numbed the pain. She rocked back and forth several times, trying to endure the pain the best she could, "I'm sorry," she managed to spill from her mouth, "I'm just--it hurts," she let out a sheepish, pain-high laugh, knowing her washing her wound must have made her look like some mental patient or mentally retarded persona. 

No matter how hard Shayre tried to sympathize with her, she couldn't let her guard down around him. Perhaps, it was that they were strangers. Perhaps, it was that he was the opposing gender. Perhaps, it was because he was younger and she felt in some ways protective over him. Whatever the reason, she felt horrible for him having to take care of her, watch her like this.