Enjiope took the glass of Elven brandy and downed it, the muscles in her neck straining as she wiped away her mouth, a meek gasp escaping her lips. “Not as bad as I might have thought for a place as demoralizing as this.” She slammed the glass down on the tray she’d taken it from. Her accent was light and airy in the typical elven manner.<br/><br/>As Valdaris leaned in with the bandages, she pressed on her shoulder and looked to her fingers still coming away with more blood. She put her fingers into where the fabric of her white shirt had been cut by the blade, and she ripped it open further, exposing her bare, pale shoulder and a red gash. She slipped the torn shirt further down her arm, exposing the round curve of her shoulder. The wound did not look particularly bad to Valdaris, but his experience of course had taught him about the dangers of leaving wounds untreated.<br/><br/>She balled her fist in pain and leaned away with a grimace as he cleaned and applied the bandage. He was gentle with her—far gentler than she deserved. She watched his hands, then his face, as he worked in diligent silence tending to her. His beard was thick and blonde, just like his hair, but he wore both closely cropped like a military man. His strong jaw clenched and unclenched in concentration as he tended to her, and she supressed a smile as she watched him concentrate, then winced again as he dabbed at her wound. He was pleasing enough to look at, at least. If he did turn her in and she ended up at the end of a noose, she would at least have the memory of one last good drink and the company to go with it.<br/><br/>But then again, what did he know really? Perhaps she could talk her way out of this one still. Yet, he knew about the pontiff, and had seen the woman’s attempt on her own life. And he didn’t seem the simpleton who would be easily persuaded.<br/><br/>“Thank you,” she said with a smile, going back to her persona of innocence, sounding shy and reserved. He moved to look at his own wound on his thigh. “Please,” she cut in, moving forward on her seat towards him, “allow me.” She repeated the process on him, gently dabbing at the wound and bandaging it.<br/><br/>“You know, what’s in that coin purse is really half mine.” She looked up at him with a half-smile as she tucked a piece of cloth under his leg and tied it around the gash with a firm tug.