Ridahne gave a casual turn towards the door when it opened. “Ah, Martin, there—damn...”

The girl didn’t look good. Ridahne had been so caught up in everything, so elated that she’d actually found the Gardener, so busy trying to talk down the locals that she’d forgotten about Darin’s arrow wound. There was a lot of blood. The human sat beside her and Ridahne immediately rose to inspect the wound with her experienced eye. She’d seen a lot of wounds in her time, both from weaponry and from accidents or wild beasts. She used to rescue ignorant travelers from the Dust Sea, the vast expanse of barren, shifting dunes that made up a strong majority of Azurei’s landmass. 

The wound was superficial but still deep enough to be a concern for bleeding and infection. It was a clean slice and that would help in stitching it back up. “Ai lad, I’m sorry! I got distracted and forgot you were hurt...and it’s worse than I initially thought...” Ridahne was about to instruct her to get up and follow her upstairs but Darin’s head thunked against the bar. Was she always that pale?

“Barman, bring whiskey upstairs. And hot water.”
“Whiskey..?”
Ridahne gave a dry smile. “Don’t have a sleeping elixir, do I?” With that, the tall elf took Darin’s good arm, hung it over her own shoulder and hoisted the woman up onto her back like an over-long pack. She hauled Darin up the stairs and into the little room she was renting, laying her near the low burning fire. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m good at this.”

The barman came up a moment later with a bucket of steaming water, some clean linen rags, and a hefty glass of whiskey. Ridahne thanked him but shooed him away, latching the door shut behind him. Now alone, Ridahne began her work.
“Your secrets are safe with me. All of them. Here, take a big gulp.” She helped her lift her head and proffered the glass of whiskey. “I’m assuming you’re not the liquor sort, but I need you to empty the glass. Can’t have you squirming on me when I stitch you up.”

Ridahne bathed the wound in hot water, wiping it clean to get a better look. “I hear scars on young men are dashing,” she teased. “I can probably do the stitching with your shirt on, there’s enough of a hole in it now, but it will be easier if I don’t have to maneuver around it and you’ll need to wash and mend it anyway. The door is locked, so nobody will come barging in. And if they come through the window they’ll have me to answer to.” She smiled. It was a joke mostly, though she did mean it. Ridahne pulled a blanket from the bed and offered it to her.