Ward's breathing deepens, and I realize he has fallen asleep in my arms. My heart aches for him. I let him sleep, kissing his hair gently. Drowsing fitfully only works for me for a few short minutes or hours before my bladder demands my attention. I slide from the furs and search the tent for clothing, coming up with my blood-stained breeches and the Woodsman's cloak. Ward has bound my ribcage from below my breasts to my navel. I wonder what the injury looks like underneath and shudder. It tugs when I stretch and move, the feeling a painful, uncomfortable pinch that makes me stop with a quick inhalation. After all the noise I've been making trying to get dressed, Ward must be desperately tired not to have awakened by now. But I really don't have time to think much on it, with my bladder ma
