As night fell, Philip Shaw lay on the bed, overwhelmed by the bitterness of herbal medicine.
Aldana Candi had already fallen asleep with her back to him.
After re-bandaging the wound on the back of his head, she placed the herbs in his hand, leaving him to tend to the wound on his chest alone.
Philip Shaw knew he was in the wrong, so he didn't argue. He quietly sat at the bedside, tending to the edges of the wound.
There was a small hole on his chest. Although it was small, the wound was deep, and any slight movement tugged at the muscle in his arm, causing him a sharp, indescribable pain.
Though he couldn't remember when he got injured, he knew clearly in his mind that it was a gunshot wound.
It seemed to be instinctual.
Just like how he didn't know where he learned to cook, yet could calmly light a fire and prepare meals in the kitchen.
