Weird. What kind of bandit would go this far out into the middle of nowhere? There were plenty of trade routes that were easier targets, he muses to himself, mirroring her suspicions.

“No use trying to sleep without a sword,” he replies. He knows he would be too alert to rest weaponless. Asking them to provide one seems like a bit of a stretch, given how close he’d gotten to killing her.

He gets up to the basin, slipping out of the left sleeve to address the injury. The stab wound had been stitched up, forming a thick, angry line that radiated red from the cut flesh, but it appeared to be clean. He isn’t daunted at all by self administering the salve, though he winced a little where it stung rather suddenly.

It would be yet another scar to add to the scattered streaks of white up his arm.