As Trott climbed up the ladder back up to the shack, Smith dusted off his hands and took a seat on one of the crates. Ross placed his foot on the first rung, before turning around. "Hey, Smith?" He looked up. "I'm sorry. You know, about earlier." Smith nodded. "If you need anything..." silence filled the air. It was hard. Not being about to talk to your best friend. He missed hearing the yells and curses echo down the halls. He missed Smith.
Ross hopped off the ladder and may his way through the corridors to the bedroom. He locked the door tight behind him. Taking off his blazer, he turned his back to the mirror. Red marks bled through his shirt. He was going to need a doctor. A walrus doctor.
Trott ran to Ross's call. Tutting as he lay him down and removed the shirt. The wounds we fresh, no doubt caused by the immense pressure of the stone tower. Small fragments of Rock were lodged in the gashes. Trott winced. It must of hurt. No doubt these wounds were new. Trott presumed something immensely bad happened on the farm. All the movement had probably made them worse.
He plucked the stony splinters from where they were lodged and proceeded to stitch. Ross gritted his teeth. He was used to blocking out pain, but the open wounds stung like a mothra. "So....What happened?" Ross was snapped out of his agony by Trotts question.
"Oh...I just......uh.. fell over. Yeah, I fell on a...spade." Trott raised his eyebrow.
"One hell of a spade"
