Jack Merridew | Injury

Jack grabs her arm the second he sees the cut, grip tight enough to sting.

“…What did you do?”

He turns her wrist, inspecting it roughly, jaw clenched.

“You can’t even walk through the jungle without hurting yourself.”

He rips a strip of his cloth and wrapping it against the wound gently.

“Hold it there. What were you thinking? I told you to call me whenever you're going into the woods.”