Dauphin groaned in pain, feeling rough hands push at her. She had been experiencing the most terrible dream: that she had been dragged away from home, lost in a strange city and then shot by an arrow....
"Ouch!" The light burned her eyes as she forced them wearily open. It wasn't a dream. She was sitting, half-propped against a wooden trough, being shaken roughly by a man whose status seemed little higher than her own. So much for a knight in shining armour.
"Leave the girl be, Ingleby. She is conscious now."
Dauphin tried to move to look, causing pain to shoot through her right side.
"I wouldn't do that. You have an arrow in you still," the same voice replied wryly, the speaker moving in front of her as she did so. A gentleman, although shabby in attire, perhaps four or five years older than Dauphin.
"My servant will go and try and find a healer," the man added. "Although I hold little hope. There are thousands of refugees here, many with wounds more serious than yours. We have so little gold left that I can be of no great assistance to you."
The cultured tone and tattered but rich clothes made sense now: this man was a noble, but now a homeless one due to the war. Despite her fatigued, injured state, Dauphin could not help but be overjoyed that someone of such a high status was even talking to her. "I'll be fine," she gasped. "Just help me to my feet."
The look on the man's face showed little faith in her words, so Dauphin moved to do so herself.
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