Page 140 of Propriety
His sword dropped with a dullthudbeside them, sinking into the leaves. His blood was hot and soaking her clothes.
“No, no, no. Look at me-” Her hands went to his face, forcing it up. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. He was still breathing — but shallow, uneven, every inhale a struggle.
He tried to speak. Coughed instead.
And that cough, wet and rattling, turned her blood to ice.
She looked down at his side. The knife had been small, but the wound—it wasdeep. Blood bubbled with every breath.
“No,” she whispered. “No.”
She dropped with him to the forest floor, one arm tight around his shoulders as she dragged him toward the tent.
He half-walked, half-fell with her, steps unsteady, breath hitching. His legs gave out three times. By the fourth, she was sobbing and dragging him. “Please, Lancelot, please.”
They collapsed together behind the canvas. She cradled his head in her lap, brushing the sweat from his brow with trembling fingers.
“Stay awake,” she whispered, frantic. “Please, Lancelot, stay with me-”
He groaned.
“Just… just hold on.” She fumbled for the bag. Her fingers didn’t feel like hers. Everything was too fast. Too slow. Her vision blurred.
Lancelot blinked, trying to focus on her. “Pretty when you panic,” He tried to grin, but his lips turned downward into a grimace.
“Shut up!” She shouted, tears leaving stains down her cheeks.
“Gwen.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You have to stitch it.”
Her breathing hitched. “I can’t.”
“You can.” He gritted his teeth, trying to shift, but hissed when the pain bit into him. “You have to.”
“I’ve never… I don’t…” Her hands were shaking. “I don’t knowhow.I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t.” His voice was rough, but steady. Calmer than she was. Always calmer than she was when it mattered. “Just listen.”
“Iamlistening!”
“Good.” He exhaled slowly, dragging his hand up to touch hers — slippery with his own blood. “There should be a needle and thread in the smaller pouch.”
She tore through his satchel, finding the bag with the supplies needed. “I’ve got it.” Her voice shook.
“Thread the needle.”
She fumbled, nearly dropping it twice. “This is… I’m not… this isyour body!” She was crying, trying desperately to tamper down her sobs as she shook.
“Gwen.” His voice cut through the rising panic in hers. “I trust you.”
That stopped her cold.
Her fingers curled around the needle.
“Go slow,” he rasped. “Start on the edge. Small bite. Just the skin.” The needle pierced his skin, and her stomach lurched. Blood continued to pool. He grunted quietly. “That’s right. Go a little deeper.” She continued to tremble, but she thread the stitching through to the other side. “Good girl.”
Her breath caught. Her hands kept moving.
“Again. You’ve got it. You’re steady now.”
