It was to be expected that Arthur accept the help he was being given, if one could call it help and he hobbled up the last few steps and followed the other man into some place too sterile and clean to make him feel comfortable. He stiffly climbed up onto one of the cots, and felt absurdly small sitting on it the way he was. His feet were dangling off the floor and he achingly nudged off the boot that had been covering his shot foot.
He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He'd had worse and in worse places, but that didn't stop his foot from looking ugly as sin.