Wound

Stitches slowly opens the door of The Prancing Pony, as though the task itself is difficult. Wincingly, he reaches his right hand to his left shoulder to the site of the new crater in his flesh, and tenderly rubs it to submission. After the throbbing subsides he ambles towards the bar, eyes meeting with whoever might be tending it this early in the morning. He flashes a gentle smile, but keeps his eyes down when he orders. Not his proudest moment, nor his most prideful order, to be honest.

Ah..at least..i can move my arms well..

It seems bree is not what it used to be anymore..i got convinced hard way it seems..got pierced by a darn spear..the darn pain..won't..stop. On my luck i got picked up and treated quickly..or else..well wouldn't be writing this now i suppose.

I suppose this will serve me as a reminder..to watch my back more often..