With the unpleasant healing procedure now over, Crow was able to relax again. His mind was still hazy from the ale in his system, although he wasn’t drunk enough to be completely unaware of himself. While he didn’t usually enjoy being intoxicated, he found that he appreciated the way the alcohol took the edge off his pain. He glanced at William and wondered offhandedly if the knight had gone through similar traumas in the past. After all, he had been quite insistent that the thief drink before he pulled the dagger from his side. It had sounded like he’d been speaking from experience when he had said Crow wouldn’t want to be sober during the removal of the blade.

When Penelope spoke up, Crow turned to her and shrugged, still feeling a bit absentminded. “It hurts a little, but it’s fading,” he answered her question simply. Leaning back against the tree, he lifted his tunic again, curious to see what William had done now that he wasn’t focused on keeping himself from passing out.

A thin layer of bandaging adorned his upper torso, securely tight, but still just loose enough that he could breathe without causing the material to strain. He lifted a hand to the spot on his chest where he had been stabbed, gingerly brushing his fingertips across the bandaging. He could feel faint ridges where the knight had stitched him with catgut. While he couldn’t see the suture work, he could tell that William had done a good job. As long as he kept the wound clean, it would probably heal just fine.

“Looks like my old scar is going to have a twin,” Crow mused, referring to the wound on his right side that he had obtained from the tax collectors as a child. He let his tunic fall back down over his body and looked up at Penelope again. “I never expected William to be so medically inclined. Did you know he knew how to treat injuries like this?”