Time passed strangely after we made it to camp; I was in and out of consciousness so often it was hard for me to keep track so I didn't bother. Sometimes when I woke up Raven would be sitting with me, mending clothes or fixing weapons in the silence. I think they may have been mine, but I was so out of it the few times she had them out that I couldn't tell.
Other times the tribe doctor would be there, grudgingly checking my wounds for infection. It was the same old man from when we were young and, just like back then, he still wasn't very fond of me now. I'm pretty sure the only reason he was treating my wounds was because Raven told him to.
But most times I woke up alone with only my thoughts as company. During those times, I almost wished they gave me more pain medicine then they were, at least then my brain would be too scattered to function properly. Maybe then I wouldn't be plagued so badly with guilt.
"I should have never accepted the mission", "I should have sent her home," "I never should have left her alone;" all these thoughts and more simply bounced around my head, constantly making themselves known. They all contradicted each other, yet I couldn't refute a since word of them. Underneath the different words and phrases, they all said "It was my fault."
I can't deny that either.
