The chaos of battle subsides, Lawson finds himself struggling to stand, the pain from his wounds intensifying with each movement. Dalston, sensing his comrade's distress, wastes no time. With a firm grip, he helps Lawson onto his feet, supporting him as they make their way towards Dalston's horse. "Up you go, Lawson," Dalston says, his voice steady and determined. "We need to get you to proper care." While letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Lawson allows himself to be lifted onto the horse, the familiar weight of his comrade's arm providing some measure of comfort. Despite the discomfort of his injuries, he feels a surge of gratitude towards Dalston for his unwavering support. As they ride off into the distance, Lawson finds himself leaning against Dalston's sturdy frame, Exhaustion washes over him like a tide, pulling him deeper into the realm of dreams where pain is but a distant memory.
When Lawson finally stirs from his uneasy sleep, he finds himself disoriented, the world around him blurred and indistinct. Blinking away the haze of sleep, he tries to sit up, only to be met with a sharp twinge of pain that shoots through his body like a bolt of lightning. Dalston's voice breaks through the fog of confusion, gentle yet firm. "Easy there, Lawson," he says, his hand resting reassuringly on Lawson's shoulder. "You're in good hands now. Just rest and let the healers do their work." With a groan of frustration, Lawson sinks back against the softness of his cot, his muscles tensing with every movement. He tries to piece together the events that led him here, though to his avail his memory seemed shattered like shards of glass.
As Lawson rests in the soft glow of candlelight, a pair of heavy footsteps break the silence of the infirmary. Dalston enters, his presence freighting yet gentle in a strange way, his gaze immediately drawn to Lawson's form. With a mixture of concern and reassurance in his eyes, he approaches Lawson's bedside. "How are you holding up, Lawson?" His voice is low and understated, a comforting presence in the quiet room. Lawson meets Dalston's gaze with a faint smile, appreciating the familiar sight of his companion. "Better now, thanks to these healers," he replies, a hint of warmth in his tone. Dalston nodded, "Glad to hear, I'm sure you'll be back on your feet within no time." With a nod of agreement, Lawson settles back against his pillow. Together, they face the uncertainty of the days ahead, bound by the unspoken bond of friendship.
As the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months, Lawson's journey to recovery becomes a steady rhythm of physical therapy sessions, each carefully tailored to his specific needs and goals. Under the guidance of skilled healers and trainers, he embarks on a rigorous regiment designed to rebuild his strength, mobility, and endurance. The physical therapy sessions take place in a dedicated area of the camp, equipped with specialized equipment and tools to facilitate Lawson's rehabilitation. Lawson's progress becomes evident, he gains a newfound sense of confidence and optimism, fueled by the tangible improvements in his strength, mobility, and overall well-being. Dalston occasionally joined these sessions providing strength and inspiration along with his near decades of experience as a seasoned knight, Dalston provides valuable insights and techniques to help his comrades improve their form and technique, ensuring that they get the most out of each session.
In the quiet comfort of the conditioning tent, where they find themselves alone amidst the hustle and bustle of camp life, Dalston offers Lawson a massage to ease the tension that has accumulated in his muscles after a long day of training. With a gentle touch, Dalston begins to work his magic, his hands moving with a grace and precision born of years of experience. He starts with broad strokes, tracing the contours of Lawson's back with a feather-light touch that sends shivers down his spine. With each pass, Lawson feels the tension in his muscles begin to melt away, along with himself. There is only the gentle breathing of Lawson in the midst of the soothing cadence of Dalston's touch. "That's it, just let yourself relax," Dalston murmured. Lawson quietly groaned in relief, his mind drifting into a state of blissful oblivion.
"You're so tense, Lawson," Dalston continues, his fingers dancing lightly over Lawson's skin. "You should let me take care of you more often." Flustered, a faint blush rises to Lawson's cheeks at Dalston's words, a flutter of excitement stirring in his chest. He knows that Dalston is just teasing, but there's something about the playful glint in his eyes that sets his heart racing.
As the massage draws to a close, Lawson finds himself reluctantly pulling away from the comfort of Dalston's touch, his heart heavy as the words of Dalston echo his mind. Exiting the tent together, their steps light and their spirits lifted, Lawson can't help but steal glances at Dalston, his mind swirling with unspoken feelings.
