We all make mistakes

He held the rag up to his nose. Touching anything to it hurt like a bitch, and he scowled against the rag. But otherwise, he didn’t complain. It wasn’t his first nasty injury, and it would be far from his last. It wasn’t his worst by far. She mentioned stitches and he gave a soft sigh. Perhaps her administration wouldn’t be as bad as Ignita’s first lot.

She trotted out of the den, and something in him itched to stop her. Perhaps he was just being a moody old ass. He’d already frightened her once for the evening. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pains of his body until he heard the light shuffle step of her return. He slowly pulled an eye open and looked at her. “Well?” he said softly, some of that grump leaking through. “They won't stitch themselves.”


"Speech"