Po escorted me into the cabin of the ship and told me to rest while he found someone to tend to my wounds.
It was no surprise that the Beastkin was sharp-witted. I had tried not to give myself away throughout the journey, but he must have caught the stiffness in how I moved, the way I favored my left side when climbing the gangplank. Pain has a way of leaking through even the best masks.
The room he pointed me to held a bunk bed with two spaces and a table and chair against the opposite wall. There were no windows of any sort, but ventilation hummed softly from the air vents embedded into the upper part of the metallic walls. The air tasted of salt and machine oil, and the faint vibration of the ship's engines traveled up through the floor and into my bones.
Afterwards, a nurse came around. She had black hair and was lean — one of the harbor staff Po had recruited. I opened my clothes for her to patch me up and at the same time minded my lechery.
