Maelis made me take the coat off before she asked how the market had been.
That seemed wise. My answer would have been less useful than the stains.
"Left hand first," she said.
I put it on the table.
The palm was rubbed raw near the base of the fingers. A small cut crossed one knuckle. Neither explained the deeper ache which had kept waking me during the night.
Maelis turned my hand toward the window. I tried to hold it where she wanted it instead of following every touch with my eyes.
"This one?" she asked, pressing beside the knuckle.
"Stings."
"And the palm?"
"The same. The other pain is farther in."
"I know. I'm asking about this hand."
I shut my mouth while she cleaned it. I had arrived with the night arranged into one large unpleasant event. She needed me to separate the parts. The scraped palm, the damaged right hand, the strain after the ward, the dizziness after the crossing. Answering the question she asked would get us through them faster.
