The princess lowered her gaze and picked at the straw on the floor. [i]I was wounded and close to death? By the gods...I could use this. Maybe he'll pamper me if I play it up a little. Besides, I definitely might still suffer some ill effects from my injuries! Yes, I'll run with that.[/i]

She put a hand to her forehead and swayed a little. "I might still succumb. I don't know. I feel a little dizzy. Some very bad men stole something very important from me and tried to murder me."

The barn wasn't exactly the cleanest place to be hosting a patient. Dirt, grime, straw, and the occasional defacation stain made the place reek. The cows hardly smelled much better. Out here in the village of Pi-Hol, the nearest trained healer was a full day's (or two) walk away at the city Diamont, and most people simply died before they could get halfway there. And before you ask, no, the Matriarch Hilda was a quack who thought drinking poop mixed with orange juice could cure anything and that bleeding out was a perfectly acceptable treatment for blood loss. Princess Amalthea had heard of her during another outbreak of the Plague.

"Where am I, exactly?" the princess added. "And...what is your name, kind sir?"