She placed a hand against his chest to kepe him down before he hurt himself. She still had bloodstains on her fingers, his blood. "Stay down. You're safe," she reassured, drawing a slow breath. "I never thought you'd wake up.."
The gentle plunking of raindrops backed her quiet voice. It had been going on and off all day, and he could tell she had stayed at his side still—her hair and clothes were dry. The birds were still chirping outside. "You were asleep for three days,"
Pierre clung to her fingers as his expression morphed into one of utter disbelief. “Three—Three days? But—the war—“
"The battle's done. You need to focus on rest, please.. for me." Edonine urged somberly. "I didn't think I'd get you back.." she looked so tired.
“For you..” he agreed in a whisper. “I-I’m sorry. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
"Just.. a few scratches." She averted her eyes, pulling her chair up more to keep her legs below his cot. "And I'm tired, is all.. worried for you."
Pierre's fingers tightened around hers—even in his disoriented state, he could pick apart the gentle lies she spoke. "Edonine. Where are you hurt?"
She looked away again. She said nothing.
"Please…" he whispered, tugging at her hand. "Have they been treated?"
"They were treated." She murmured. "It was my legs, I.." Edonine sighed, "The general made me go back. After I brought you here. He made me go back and fight and made me leave you."
“He did what?” Pierre’s eyes narrowed. Edonine, his Edonine, fighting alone. Without him by her side for three days. Injured. Hurt. “How badly are you hurt??”
"It's difficult to walk," she whispered.
“Is it a sprain? Bruises? Cuts? Bullet wounds?” With each unanswered question, his anxiety grew.
Her face hardened, and so many other emotions solidified in her skin. Pain, vulnerability, fear. Sadness, guilt. She stayed silent.
Why wasn't she telling him? Cold, hard fear lodged in his heart. "Edonine…" he pleaded one last time, "Why can't you say?"
"I can't bring myself to." She croaked.
Pierre's entire body went rigid. Why? What was so bad that she couldn't form the words to describe it?
"Then show me…" he whispered. "Please."
"I can't," tears were threatening her gaze, she recoiled with shame. "I can't show you, Pierre. It's.. they. It was brief." She held the sides of her head with her hands.
"I don't understand," he told her, "I—Can you walk?"
"Yes," she whimpered, "But I have to be careful,"
He exhaled slowly. "Your feet—–are they both intact?"
"Yes, Pierre," she exhaled, curling her fingers around her ears like a traumatized child, collapsing into herself.
Pierre fell silent. After a moment, he braced his arms on either side of his body and pushed. After nearly a minute of painful struggling, he was seated upright, pulling his lover into a comforting embrace.
His fiancee broke quietly into tears.
Pierre slipped his hand through her hair to brace the back of her head against his uninjured shoulder, biting back a whimper of pain as he tucked her snugly in his arms.
He could feel her ribs hitch, trying to hold back her tears. There was some real damage here, something she wouldn't let him know. What could be so damaging..?
"Let the tears out, love," he murmured in her ear, struggling to keep his act together while his heart broke for the woman in his arms.
