A shadow appears in the doorway. "Hey, you still alive," the other says to me. [color=f26522]"Of course,"[/color] I say, sitting up from my curled position on the floor. [color=f26522]"Why wouldn't I be?"[/color] 

	Over the last two minutes I'd had before the man showed up, they'd explained my job to me. [color=6ecff6]"Take care of him,"[/color] they'd said. [color=6ecff6]"And his weapons."[/color] Now one of them jerked his chin at me. [color=6ecff6]"Get to it, urchin,"[/color] they said, spitting at my feet. 

	I pull out my pitiful bag of healing supplies they'd granted me. I begin to scan his body for injuries. [color=f26522]"This'll sting a bit,"[/color] I say, reaching out to put the cream I have on his arm, painfully aware of my accent. [i][color=f9ad81]Jeezus,[/color][/i] I think. [i][color=f9ad81]I sound like a heretic.[/color][/i] It's a sword wound, probably gained in some inconsequential sword fight or other, maybe from training. I can see how thin he really is. He legitimately has no fat on him, all muscle and bone. I scoot closer to him. [color=f26522]"How'd you get that wound?"[/color]