Crow raised a brow curiously when Penelope said he might not be stuck in her camp for much longer. He was just about to ask what she meant when she suddenly revealed a familiar object to him that she had retrieved from her pocket. It was one of Hazel’s medicine jars. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of it. With this, his coughing fits would be manageable again and hopefully no longer severe enough to damage the stitches in his middle. He felt a pulse of excitement. With his illness under control for a week, it should buy him enough time to heal from the worst of his wound. Maybe by then, he would even be well enough to escape from the knights’ camp altogether—with some help, of course, since he knew he wouldn’t be well enough to do more than walk without assistance at the very most.

As Penelope went on to tell him about the medicine for his pain, Crow nodded. Since he had been able to tolerate the pain of his wounds since Hazel had joined his group—or passed out from blood loss, as was the case of his last major leg injury—she had never made him anything like this before. He studied the container with newfound interest, simultaneously eager to try it and nervous to find out just how intense a delirium it might cause him if the herbalist had thought it necessary to warn him in advance.

“You certainly got a lot done last night, huh?” Crow mused, looking up to meet Penelope’s gaze with a smile. “Hopefully between these two medicines, the rest of my time being stuck here will be more bearable. Thanks, love.” He casted a quick glance towards the entrance of the tent before looking up at the knight and holding out his free hand, “Since we’re alone, I might as well take that first dose for my illness while I have the chance. Who knows when that physician or anyone else is going to show up later.”