“Please let me look, Tristan,” I said, forcing my voice to be calm, quiet. He did not move for a moment, then he exhaled and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his arms folded on his bent knees. I held up the lantern and swallowed a gasp. The back of his head was glistening red, soaked in blood. “Shall I live?” he asked. My stomach turned. I was not one to be afraid of a little blood. But this was not a little blood. “I . . .” I coughed. “Of course you’ll live. Now hush so I can work.”
