ode to the fallen (m)

Thistle was not so much angry as she was worried. And her worry made her sound sharp and angry, when in reality she was just trying to keep it all together. She was a worrier, it was her nature, but she tried to hide it and sometimes she succeeded.
Thistle stopped working frantically to clean his eye and looked at him. you don't know that. Shock is a tricky thing husband.

Don't you wrinkle your lips at me Ragnar Loðbrók. She shook her head and backed up studying his eye. It was the best she could do and then she spoke softly. Ragnar I honestly don't know what to do for your eye? I mean I would put herbs on it, but it's such a sensitive part of your body...it might be better to just let you eat something for the pain and fever? She flitted around him unsure what to do, but wanting to do something.

Thistle took a shuddering breath and leaned against him for a moment, not able to do much else for his eye here. Her herbs were all at home, My herbs are all back at the den, I have to figure out a way to cover it too, because that will scare the children, and they have enough trauma in their lives.