The pulling had been agony. Even with Aynur trying to twist it around to give the least resistance, it had still torn its way out of his body, and Tristain’s muscles screamed in pain. His back jumped at the slight touch as he heard the arrow hit the ground.

He did have one thought. The pain had washed away the fogginess in his head. He wasn't sure if he appreciated that fact or not, honestly. But it did mean that when fingers pressed against his back, slipping and sliding in the blood, he felt it. It meant that, when hot tears fell against his back, mingling with his blood there, he felt it. That he heard the sobs, and the strangled apologies. The choked plea.

“Ay.. Aynur. Aynur. Girl, breathe. Please. I don’t.. Hate you.” He couldn't move, not really. ButheI tried, arching one arm back to clumsily bump against hers. “I don't.. Hate you. You helped. Can still.. Help. Push the bandages onto the wound.” He wanted to try comforting her, he truly did, but pulling the arrow out had released a fresh wave of blood, and the mercenary was already beginning to feel a bit weak.

“I...dropped them...here…” Tristain felt her press something cool and wet against his back then drape what felt like sleeves around his sides. “H-hold this here and I will find them.” He gave a weak grunt of agreement, and his hands took hold of the thing that she had placed on him. It took him a moment to realize what it was - her shirt. If his blood hadn't been oozing out of his back, he probably would have blushed fiercely.

He felt her slide off his back and to the floor with a small ‘ompf’ she was sniffling as she felt blindly around for the bandages. It didn’t take long for her to find them and claw her way back up to the bed, undoing them she pulled the shirt away and pressed the bandages to his wound. Passing him the end of it. “I-is this right?”

“Yes.” He hissed the word out between clenched teeth as the fabric of the bandages dragged against his wound. “There should be.. A spot that feels wadded up, like cotton shoved into it. That goes over the wound.” Tentatively he felt her move it around, until he let out a short grunt when she got it in the right position.

When she had done that, she slid off of him. Tristain held the bandages in place and sat up, slowly shifting into a sitting position, and tied the bandage tight around his waist so it wouldn't slide out of position. He watched through pain clouded eyes as Aynur fumbled around the room, bumping into the dresser and pulling out one of his shirts. She struggled to put it on. Still sniffling. She had been crying.

“Ay.. Nur. Girl, come here.” He wasn't going to die. With his immediate physical concern abated, he could try to help her with the mental one she was having. He thumped the bed beside him with one hand, swaying slightly as he did so. The mercenary was a bit light headed - OK, very light headed at the moment. But he wasn't dead. The arrow hadn't been poisoned, just barbed, and while it had been in a terrible position for him to get out on his own - an impossible position, really - it hadn't been buried very deep inside of his flesh. He would survive, now that Aynur had gotten the bandage in place.

She shuffled forward slowly with tiny, unsure footsteps. She hit the bed then slowly clamored up onto it and shifted next to him. A shaking hand reached out to lightly land on his knee. Tristain gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and hugged her against his side. “Thank you, Aynur.”