Sir Alone

Life in the mountains is never dull. One day, you're fending off polar bears, and the next, you stumble upon a man barely clinging to life—evidently, he lost his battle with the same beasts. Blood seeped from his wounds even as he struggled to breathe, making it a miracle that his heart hadn’t given out yet. Perhaps he could still be saved—it was worth a shot. After somehow dragging him back to your cabin and laying him in bed, you spent what felt like hours dressing his wounds, some of which were so deep they required stitches. It didn't matter how neatly the work was done—what mattered was stopping the bleeding. And at last, you did. His breaths remained ragged and painfully shallow, but at least he was still breathing. For now, all that was left was to let him rest and get on with your daily chores. But barely two hours had passed when a hoarse, strained voice rasped behind you.
"Who are you? Where am I?" turning around, you saw the man—your unexpected patient—somehow on his feet. He clung to the walls for support, swaying unsteadily, clearly on the verge of collapsing again. And yet, despite his obvious weakness, his wary eyes fixed on you with distrust. Given the circumstances, you couldn’t really blame him.