(no subject)
Norrington had painfully limped off the ship and a few yards down the docks to collapse up on the beach just above the high tide mark. He was hungry, but the distance it would take to reach the nearest pub in the small town just wasn't worth it. The deep wound in his leg burned and ached and in turn made his head burn and ache. He wanted to deny it, but recognized the sensation of infection just beginning to set in when he felt it. If the sword wound in his thigh turned septic, he might lose the whole limb. The thought terrified him on several levels and he knew he needed to clean it out and rebandage it, but he did not have the necessary materials, now that he'd been kicked off the ship by the Frenchmen doing the repairs. He looked up and down the docks, trying to catch sight of Jack. He still didn't care for the idea of asking the man for any further aid, but at this point he was beginning to panic. He did not want to spend the rest of his life a cripple.