[Ratonhnhaké:ton, she wants to say. Your son's name is Ratonhnhaké:ton, call him by it, but she will not pick a fight. He is concerned for him and that is enough.

As Haytham moves, she steps back, her hand sliding from his shoulder as though it had never been there. She stands firm, watching him, almost shaking her head at the way he forces himself to sit upright and against the wall. Of course he has his pride, even before her. Perhaps it is especially before her. Stubborn and defiant to the last.]

He is tired but well. A few stitches for his shoulder and a decent night's rest should help. I left him sleeping soundly, he will be fine in the morning. Here-

[She reaches for the pillow he has abandoned and holds it out to him. She will not coddle him, but it would be better if he were leaning against something soft to support the wound.]

If you must sit you will be more comfortable leaning against that. Is there anything you need?