Self Suture

    He was mentally kicking himself.  He had known better.  He had underestimated his target.  Or course no one had bothered inform him he was tracking one of their own gone rogue;   worse when he recognized his old mentor’s training in his opponent’s stance.  The Jade Forge branded death weapons would be a nice and useful trophy from the deceased assassin; so would the scars along his collarbone when the wounds healed.    

    He stumbled through the dreaming into the farmhouse basement the one place in the house that was a safe passageway.  He dropped to the floor of the basement, as he promptly dropped his gear behind him.  He could hear the scurrying and panicked sounds of the occupants of the handful of cells. Between himself and the redcap, it would be awhile before they would run out of sweet meats. He grimaced; the fact that he could barely smell anything, or anyone, over the scent of his own blood was a bad sign.  

    He hissed in pain as he applied pressure to the wound while he carefully made his way upstairs.  He paused to listen in the darkness of the ground floor, thankful that he did not hear the sound of Duada moving around upstairs.  Along the dark hallway was a peaceful quiet as he debated if it would be quicker to clean up in the kitchen and crash on the living room couch, or to continue up to the guest bedroom he had claimed.  He knew Duada would probably have a fit if he woke to find evidence of a bloody mess in his pristine kitchen, and he could not deny the security of his own room had growing appeal.

    With soft steps he continued up to the second floor, making every effort not to disturb the redcap in the master bedroom at the end of the hall.  Once in the sanctuary of the guest room he had claimed for himself, he went straight into the small bathroom and pulled out the small bag of emergency supplies he kept for injuries.  He was thankful that he could not expound the noise of pain as he used hot water and whiskey to cleanse the wound.  Finally getting a good look at it, he was impressed and pleased to see it was a solid and straight cut.  He was meticulous as he pulled needle and thread, practiced at stitching his own wounds.

    Swallowing a handful of high end painkillers, he stumbled to collapse on the bed.  While waiting for the medications to kick in he stared up at the empty walls and bare ceiling. He bought this house for the redcap and him, though he had left Duada to his own devices when it came to the design and architecture of the place.  The quit underneath him was scratchy and not the familiar comfort he craved from the small abandoned apartment in the Cove.  He was just a ghost passing through.