[As the fabric leaves his chest, he drops his chin to look at the line carved down his breastbone. Lifts a hand to it, though this simple act of flexion squeezes at the lacerations lining his arm. His fingers hover close, poised as though to delicately pull back the front of a garment that isn't there—as though he's thought to open the seam of his own flesh and is puzzling at how, precisely, to go about it.
The worst of his wounds, made by a single vigorous application of a short knife, punches through the meat of his trapezius muscle, right alongside the spine, and the way the skin pulls taut with his bent neck will make Alexandrie's mending difficult to begin. So, too, will the quick and heaving breaths that suddenly arise: first snuffled through blood-crusted nostrils, then in an openly panting struggle for self-control. The occasional reedy hint of his voice. Face creased as if he's only now decided to acknowledge the condition of suffering.
Finally agreeing to lift his head and hold it there for her guiding hands seems to calm him; the first push of the needle is a welcome point of focus, like a star, small and bright.]
I can hold, [he rasps, in case it's still in doubt.] Keep going.
[Staring forward, breathing through relaxed jaw, more slowly with each stitch. Eventually, calm. (He does not look at Isaac.)]
no subject
The worst of his wounds, made by a single vigorous application of a short knife, punches through the meat of his trapezius muscle, right alongside the spine, and the way the skin pulls taut with his bent neck will make Alexandrie's mending difficult to begin. So, too, will the quick and heaving breaths that suddenly arise: first snuffled through blood-crusted nostrils, then in an openly panting struggle for self-control. The occasional reedy hint of his voice. Face creased as if he's only now decided to acknowledge the condition of suffering.
Finally agreeing to lift his head and hold it there for her guiding hands seems to calm him; the first push of the needle is a welcome point of focus, like a star, small and bright.]
I can hold, [he rasps, in case it's still in doubt.] Keep going.
[Staring forward, breathing through relaxed jaw, more slowly with each stitch. Eventually, calm. (He does not look at Isaac.)]