The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum
She offered him her hand; Aremu took it in his, his thumb stroking along the back of it. A little sheepish note came into her voice. You can rely on me, she offered, softly. Aremu smiled at her, taking a deep breath; he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, softly.
“I wouldn’t mind something to eat and drink,” he said. He did feel a bit hungry, somewhere at the edge of the sleepiness, much more than he had earlier. He smiled at Aurelie, finding it hard to think too much beyond how sweet she looked.
“Thank you,” Aremu said, a little uncertainly; he kissed her hand again, and let go.
Standing was better than he’d feared. He remembered that he was meant to take a bath, and the poultice was suddenly almost unbearable. Aurelie went down the stairs, and Aremu ran the tub full of cold water, stripping off the bandages and climbing it.
It was a shock; it was a pleasant shock, and a welcome one, and he groaned at the relief of it. He sat for a little while, leaning back against the wall of the tub, eyes closed, his left arm draped over the edge, though he didn’t sleep again. In time, he sat up and washed himself carefully clean, and then climbed out of the bath and patted himself dry; the pants he didn’t want to wear again, but he found a set that Ahura must have brought down, something soft and comfortable. He didn’t bother with a shirt, though he did clean his teeth, which seemed to do for the last of the grogginess.
Aremu went down the hall and came back with an armful of linens; when Aurelie came back, it would be to see him bent over the bed tucking in the sheets, the old ones settled in a laundry basket. The wound on his shoulder was better, the scrapes calm rather than angry and red, though with dark bruising around them. His head, too, was less swollen than it had been, although the cut still looked unpleasant looking.
Aremu grunted, straightening up with the last of the blankets into place. He turned, looking sheepishly at Aurelie, and sat on the edge of the bed. “I was - a bit sweaty I think,” he smoothed his hand over the blanket, glancing up at her. “I didn’t want you to...” he trailed off, uncertain, bringing his hand and wrist back to his lap.
He felt clearer now, and a little embarrassed at himself. He was hungry though; his stomach grumbled, audibly, and his grin widened and grew a little more sheepish all at once.