(no subject)
Days it had been now, and though Henry Percy had certainly heard a good deal about this place, he had yet to see much of it at all. Even the trip from the beach to the clinic, and one clinic to the other, had passed almost in a daze, contrary to how excruciating the rest of the time had been. He had never been one prone to lying still, to spending his time doing nothing at all, and it all seemed infinitely worse when he had a stitched-up wound across his chest, preventing him from doing all that much moving in the first place. It wasn't that he wished he had been killed, but he oughtn't have been alive, either. He wasn't sure which was a worse fate, the one or the other. At least he had stopped suspecting that this place was some strange sort of afterlife, neither Heaven nor Hell. He just couldn't make any sense of it.
Though this location was certainly an improvement over the place he'd spent the last few days, almost entirely isolated in all that heat, it wasn't by much. The principle of it was the same -- stuck in a bed, still wounded, with nothing for him but his memories of the prince and the way he'd died. That, too, made it all the worse. Oh, he had gone into battle knowing he faced the risk of death, of course, but that didn't mean he welcomed it, especially here, where there was no way of knowing yet the outcome of the battle, no matter how unlikely a victory seemed, in retrospect.
Now, sighing, he tried to prop himself up a little for what seemed like the hundredth time, just to have some sort of movement. The fact that it still hurt likely wasn't a good sign, though if asked, he wouldn't have been likely to admit to it, either. Instead, he just sank back down again, idly prodding the skin just above the line of stitches. It was, admittedly, tempting to call for attention just so he could have some kind of company, but in the end, he decided against it. He may have been known to cause trouble in the past, but never so uselessly.
[No more new tags, please, thanks! :D]
Though this location was certainly an improvement over the place he'd spent the last few days, almost entirely isolated in all that heat, it wasn't by much. The principle of it was the same -- stuck in a bed, still wounded, with nothing for him but his memories of the prince and the way he'd died. That, too, made it all the worse. Oh, he had gone into battle knowing he faced the risk of death, of course, but that didn't mean he welcomed it, especially here, where there was no way of knowing yet the outcome of the battle, no matter how unlikely a victory seemed, in retrospect.
Now, sighing, he tried to prop himself up a little for what seemed like the hundredth time, just to have some sort of movement. The fact that it still hurt likely wasn't a good sign, though if asked, he wouldn't have been likely to admit to it, either. Instead, he just sank back down again, idly prodding the skin just above the line of stitches. It was, admittedly, tempting to call for attention just so he could have some kind of company, but in the end, he decided against it. He may have been known to cause trouble in the past, but never so uselessly.
[No more new tags, please, thanks! :D]