With a gasp for air she forced herself unto the horse, huffing as she sat in the saddle. The horse trotted onwards, with the bleeding woman on top of it. Her hand was still locked on the wound, trying to cease the flowing blood much as she could. The time passed as she rode back towards the Fort, her eyes flickering every now and then. Mikasa did not have time to consider the events, not with the wound at her side. The gaze of the Swordmaiden wandered towards her stomach, causing a frown in the night. The Dorochai Point lit up with a few torches in the distance. She was close now, though it did not feel that way at all.

“Bring the mender!” One of the soldiers shouted, as Mikasa sat hunched over on her horse, barely staying awake after the loss of blood. A few men assembled around the courtyard, to catch a glimpse of the on-going events. The girl slipped off her horse as slammed unto the ground with a thud, barely staying conscious in the night. The faces of the people were blurry, and all their words mixed together in a stream of voices. Time was still hard to grasp, but she did feel the weight of her armour eventually being removed, and the sensation of a stinging liquid pressed against the wound. Mikasa caught the sight of some elder man, staring at her with a grim expression planted on his weary face.

*

Her tired eyes admired the rays of the sun dancing through the glass window.  The infirmary was less filled than the night before, almost only being occupied by Mikasa and a few other soldiers. She glanced carefully to her stomach, once again setting her eyes upon the bandage covering up the wound. The former night was still a blur to her, but she could at least make out the small bits and pieces that had planted themselves like a seed in her mind. The sound of steel and plate being treated could be heard outside, and Mikasa had been told they were preparing for another attack, should it happen. Moreso, she had had no say in the matter, much as she wanted to protest against another fight. But a wounded Swordmaiden, and a Lady at that, would not simply be tossed aside.

She wet her lips carefully, nudging her forehead before running a hand through her mildy messy hair. All she could do for now was look through the window, awaiting the inevitable

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