Tristain was immensely glad that Aynur was still at the house. The dark hall around them was swirling back and forth as he leaned to one side, his hand holding onto the wall for dear life. She was here, which meant that maybe he would be alright from this. He just - needed to lay down. Yes, laying down sounded wonderful to him right now…

Once Aynur was breathing a little more steadily - he did not blame her for being agitated here - he began slowly making his way to his bed chamber. It was a lot easier to move without the main piece of his armor on, that was for sure. Despite that, he still was not very fast at all, stumbling every few steps and forcing himself to need to hang onto the wall to keep from falling over. He didn't know how he managed to reach the proper door without hitting the ground face first but he somehow managed it - he couldn’t quite tell if there had been hands on him during his journey down the hall to the room.

He slumped against the door, and nearly fell over when a slender hand reached around him and opened it. “How far is the bed?” Tristain turned his head in the direction of Aynur’s voice - when had she gotten that close to him? He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision.

“It.. Is roughly three meters into the room, straight ahead.” A full-body shiver ran through him, and Tristain grit his teeth as the motion made the arrowhead in his back quiver. Slowly he began moving forward, step by stumbling step, towards the bed. His knees finally hit the edge of the bed - and he collapsed straight forward, his face buried into the blanket that covered the top of the bed.

Finally, he wasn't moving. Finally, the barbed metal digging into his back stopped moving, sending waves of agony through him. Tristain let out a soft moan of relief as his body relaxed slightly, the first time in many hours - since he had been shot. “Damn.. Thing is in a spot I.. Can’t pull out my..self.” He snarled into the bed.

Even without the armor on, he felt hot and sweaty, though he wasn't filly sure if that was sweat, or blood. Either way - either way, he ached, and in status he wished he never had to experience.

“W-what do I do… Cl-clean it? Remove it?” Tristain blinked a few times, dragging his face up from its resting spot in the blankets. Aynur was near the edge of the bed, wringing her hands nervously. Even now, she was trying to help, when she looked like she wanted to bolt from the room.

“Ayn..ur. Thank you. I won’t.. Force you to help me. I should be o..k long enough for you to get a neighbor, or a doctor. If it isn't too late.” If the sun had already gone down, then it would be that much harder to get anyone to work with her.
He watched as she shrank inward, visibly shaking. Her lips quaked but he noticed her slowly counting under her breath. “let me help. Please.” His brown eyes regarded her for a moment, and then the world tilted, and he let out a gasp of pain.

“o-ok. OK. You need to… Find the arrow, in the small of my back. Pull it out, carefully - it…… it is barbed, not flat, so be slow and patient with it. There should be.. A bottle of water on the bedside table to.. Your left. Rinse the wound once th..e arrowhead is out. Bandages are still.. In the bath chamber. And the kitchen.” Why had he scattered those? Put them in different places? It was hard to think clearly, and he could only answer her questions because asking that had jogged his memory.