Second last day of Days of Ancestor. Vencian counted backward while lying still.
Thirteen days… He reached the approximate number of days he must've been unconscious.
The bed held clean sheets. A water jug stood half empty and recently set down. The smell was washed linen, not blood or salve.
The physician stepped in where she stopped. Cloth shifted. A chair scraped once before stilling.
"Your ribs were crushed inward," the man said. "Two on the left split clean. Lung flesh beneath them bruised dark, leaking air and blood into the chest. That pooling pressed your breath thin. Cold shock followed. The strain traveled inward and shook the organs loose in their places."
He paused, as if checking a ledger.
