A cold wind mixed with the smell of grass blew past. Charles cautiously opened his eyes and saw the whip on the ground first, then noticed his brother walking over with a package taken from his Arab warhorse.
Joseph glanced at the tense and stiff Charles and sighed. After all, he was still just a 17-year-old boy. When he was his age, he was equally "naïve and reckless."
"Take off your clothes." Joseph's voice softened a bit.
"Huh?"
"It's just the two of us around here." Joseph said as he opened a small leather case and took out a glass bottle filled with transparent liquid. "I'll help you treat the wound."
Tears welled up uncontrollably in Charles' eyes again. His hands trembled as he unfastened his trousers, but he gasped with pain.
Joseph helped him cut the pant legs with a small knife and poured the liquid from the bottle onto the wound.
It was distilled water, flowing over the skin with blood, trickling onto the grass.
