Turbinio

Filipendula Roots

''Has it stopped bleeding?''

''Of course not, you idiot. I still have a few buckets to bleed before I die.''

Despite the cold in the place, you remained with only a thin layer of completely bloodied clothing stuck to your body, lifting the hem of your blouse so that Diego could see and feel around the cut. From the expression he made, it wasn't pretty at all.

''I'll need to sew...'' You murmured.

''I do this.''

''No fucking way, you're going to finish stabbing me. I do. You take the string and the needle, they are in the third drawer inside the wagon.''

The burning slash of the blade made it difficult to breathe. Diego promptly picked up the string and needle. As your chest rose and fell for air, the cut slowly opened. When he handed you the requested items, you spent a long time trying to thread the eye of the needle, but your hands were shaking, and the blood made everything slippery. Gently, Diego took them from your hand and did the work for you, although you didn't intend to let him sew your cut.

You left several unnecessary small holes in your skin from one end to the other. Each pull left you dizzy, but your free hand was busy grabbing and squeezing Diego's shoulder to take the pain out. The cut was so deep that you could see a smooth yellowish layer of fat that had slowly been covered by the suture. You were sweating a lot and the little snowflakes fell warm on you. Diego remained kneeling in front of you the whole time, stroking your shoulders, and now and then taking the hair out of your face and stroking you in a strangely inert way. Dry vomiting washed over you when the last seam was done, but you soon recovered. Unbeknownst to you, your face was covered with hot tears.

''Drink some water.'' Diego said, pressing the neck of his canteen to your pale lips. ''I must admit that you are very brave, Miss (Y/N).''

''I'm not brave, just tough, I guess...'' You drank the water. ''Only the good die young.''

Ragged, dirty and bruised, you leaned against the wall, looking up. Your breathing was still weak and heavy and you squinted at Diego, who held your new weapons.

For a moment, you felt a chill. Seeing him like that, holding a gun in front of you, was a little dangerous. But there was a serene glint in his eyes, something close to admiration or reverence.

''Aren't you going to use your carbine anymore?'' He asked as his eyes slid to your face and narrowed with a curious smile.

''It's worked enough, I'm going to retire it.'' You said, the voice fading.

''I see... These are fine weapons.'' He commented, stroking the warm barrel of the gun. ''La Miranda? I feel like I've heard that name before.''

''Yeah... in Rocky Mountains...'' You tilted your head to look at him and gave an unexpected smile. ''Before I shoot you.''

''It's your ability, isn't it?''

''I don't know. I don't know anything. I've been shot, slapped, punched, kicked and stabbed... and I still have no idea what the hell is going on.''

''It's an unusual name, don't you think? 'La Miranda'. What it means?''

''It means it's a much more creative name than 'Scary Monsters'.''

''Don't be so cruel.'' He countered, smiling, not looking truly offended.

''Shut up and get me some coca leaves, Diego. It's on the first shelf.''

With considerable dignity, you allowed Diego to keep you company for a few hours. Like a true gentleman, he cleaned and bandaged your wounds, as if he were paying you back every time you helped him, whether it was by offering him some tea or giving him some useful herbs. With a gauze pad, he carefully wiped the sweat, tears and blood from your face. You had short, sparse conversations. Your mind was still reeling too much to pay attention to anything he said, but you were grateful he was there. You looked up quickly at him, then looked away.