Pandemonium | Dream SMP

26. Why the hell do you have a knife in your shoe?!

The mood is sullen as I trudge after Tommy, our footsteps wet and sloppy as we pull ourselves through the mud. We'd diverged from Prime Path a few minutes ago, and now walk in a seemingly random direction, curving just within L'Manburg's borders, in the more forested part of its territory. I can only assume he's taking me to Wilbur, and not on some diversionary traipse.

"Over here," Tommy says, raising his lantern higher as we crest a small bank in the landscape.

I narrow my eyes, attempting to see through the haze of rain. The tree canopies provide us with some shelter, and make it a little easier to see.

Tommy slides down the bank and I follow, mud flicking up onto my clothes. And then he stops, and I do too.

I wait a moment to see what he'll do next, but when he says and does nothing, I peer past his shoulder.

My stomach twists at the sight that greets me.

It's Wilbur, only not the way I remember him. He's sat against a tree, head lulled back and lips slightly parted as he takes raspy breaths. From his shoulder, an arrow protrudes, buried deep into the flesh. His blazer hangs ripped and bloodied around the entry point of the projectile, giving it an even more gnarled look.

"How long has he been like this?" I ask, stepping around Tommy to quickly drop my weapons and myself by Wilbur's side. I place a hand to his neck, checking the strength of his pulse, before moving it up to rest against his forehead.

"Since the inauguration."

Tommy's tone is bitter as he crouches at Wilbur's opposite side, setting down his belongings.

"He has a fever, but he doesn't seem to have lost too much blood," I say, pulling back a part of his blazer to better see the arrow. "This needs to come out as soon as possible."

"I tried, but he yelled bloody hell and passed out." Tommy explains, his voice growing a little strained now that he's faced with his leader once more.

I pause, pursing my lips, "you...you didn't yank on it, did you?"

"Yeah...why?"

"Because that's the one thing you don't do when you get shot by an arrow." I sigh. "Were you never taught first aid?"

"No."

I deadpan. "Of course you weren't..."

Taking a breath, I turn back to the matter at hand. Or more rather the person. Wilbur seems stuck in a place between consciousness and a feverish sleep. His eyes are screwed shut and a light sheen of sweat covers his face. Or maybe that's just rain?

"You have some bandages, right? Pass them over." I instruct, reaching down and digging a hand into one of my muddy boots. My fingers curl around a small wooden handle hidden within.

Tommy chokes, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"Why the hell do you have a knife in your shoe?!"

"For instances like this one," I explain, cleaning off the short blade with my top before placing it to Wilbur's shoulder. A loud rip echoes out around us, only to be quickly muffled by the rain. I drop the pieces of fabric to the ground as I work away at Wilbur's clothing, only stopping once I see the damaged skin of his shoulder.

"Bandages."

I hold out a hand and Tommy obediently places a roll into my palm. He's utterly baffled as he watches me work. And also unusually quiet.

With the cotton roll in one hand and my knife in the other, I reluctantly get started on the extraction process.

When removing an arrow you don't simply tug on the stick and expect the entire thing to pop straight out. You have to ease it out, and pray that the arrowhead hasn't already been dislodged from the wooden shaft it's attached to. Because then you're left with a feathered stick and the pointy bit still stuck in the person. Hence my concern when Tommy mentioned yanking on the arrow.