Lachlan blinked and glanced back over his shoulder in order to visually confirm the pharmacist’s statement. Sure enough, Krishna’s nice clean floor was no longer so nice and clean, and it sported several splatters of bright crimson blood. “Huh. Well there you go then, so I have,” he drawled, in much the same tone someone would use when commenting on the weather.
That dull, distant sense of shock lasted until the needle pierced the skin at the top end of his wound. Lachlan hissed, sucking in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, but otherwise made no move to shift away from the pain. He had been through worse pains, emotionally as well as literally, and there was no other option. Either he got stitched up with half a chance of getting back to Hiraeth unnoticed, or he would be caught.
Given the severity of the initial injury, the stitches took barely any time at all, and Lachlan nodded once, slowly, at the pharmacist’s directions for aftercare. Really, the only reason he had been able to do such good, speedy work was because Fiona had taken on the brunt of it, and Lachlan looked over to where she was nursing her mug of tea. “How are you feeling, can you make it back to Belmont?”