Everything has a place

Artorias had been expecting some sort of disbelieving remark or perhaps some chide of reprimand from his prim-and-proper sister, so it came as a surprise when the girl said nothing at all. He stared at the windows, watching grayish light filtering in through dirty panes of glass from outside. Every so often his vision would jerk out of focus again and his stomach would churn with the nausea it brought with it. It felt like his brain was scrambling his insides around inside his own body; it was terribly uncomfortable and he wished it would just stop already. He only tore his gaze away from the windows when the dark blur that was Gwyn returned to him, instructing him to eat the herbs she presented him with. Without any sign of resistance or questioning he ate the herbs, chewing on the plants for a few seconds before his face scrunched up at the taste. "Do any of these ever taste good...?" he asked in a gruff mumble, forcing himself to swallow down the paste of plant in his mouth.

While Gwyn set about her work cleaning and tending to his injuries, Artorias just followed her directions silently. He lay on his side with his injured cheek presented up to her, staring into space while the ringing in his head ebbed between a background nuisance to overwhelmingly painful. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his head and everything seemed so hazy and distorted. The supreme dire wolf's voice echoed in his mind, the experience haunting him. He had come so close to being completely overwhelmed and beaten. If he had been, would that wolf have still shown mercy? Would he have allowed him to live? If Artorias hadn't gotten that lucky swing with his broken sword, would he be alive right now, or would he be a snow-covered corpse disappearing in the sea of white somewhere out in the plains? "I had to protect our home..." he murmured after a few minutes of silence, offering an unsolicited answer to the reason why he'd fought that wolf. Maybe it was him trying to explain away his state—or maybe he was trying to justify it to himself.

Artorias gave little reaction while Gwyn cleaned the slashes on his face other than the occasional wince whenever she'd rub a little too hard on the tender, rent flesh. He didn't say anything though; she was still new to practicing medicine on a live subject, and he was grateful for her assistance. He trusted her to do her best. That all changed when she reached his hind leg, however. Where the slashes on his face had mostly been superficial, the bites and tears at his hind leg had been much more violent, and the dire wolf's fangs far deadlier than its claws. The bites had torn through the skin and muscle, but thankfully had avoided bone and joints. While painful, it wouldn't be crippling. The moment Gwyn began to clean the wounds though, Art hissed out a silent snarl against the flare of pain, gritting his teeth and raking his claws against the bed out of reflex. He did his best to keep his leg still however, not wanting to be a bad patient for his sister's first time playing doctor. He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, mentally willing the pain in his leg and head to subside.

"Sorry... I'm sorry..." he apologized to his sister in a low, rough voice. "Keep going... Do whatever you need to... I can bear it..."