For Nick, when the world swam back into almost-focus, his first thought was that he was supposed to be worried, but he couldn't remember what about. Before him, a familiar rabbit floated in the air, all grey and purple and red. And something about that didn't seem right. "Judy?" he murmured, before he realized what was bugging him. "You're bleeding?"
The face smiled at him, and he smiled back automatically. "It's not my blood."
"Oh," he replied. He tried to process that. "That's okay, then."
"You have to drink this."
Nick sniffed the air, and he winced at the smell of blood, but there was also... "soup? M'not hungry."
"Please, Nick. It's important."
Well, if it was important. He managed to focus his eyes long enough to see the spoon hovering above him, and tried to lean forward to take a sip, wincing at the pain in his gut before he was pushed back against whatever he was leaning against. Instead, the spoon came to his mouth. Onions, he thought, licking his lips. A lot of onions. A bit of sage, too. Not bad.
As the spoon returned and he drank from it again, a memory finally surfaced. "Are the kits okay?" he murmured, around a mouthful of soup.
A gentle paw cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it. "They're safe. You did good, Nick."
"Good. I'm glad." There was something else that was bugging him, but it didn't seem so important. He managed to keep himself awake for the next two spoonfuls of the onion soup, but couldn't fight sleep off any longer.
Most of the time, the room was used for Bonnie's lessons to those that wanted to learn the arts of sewing and weaving. But when needed, beds were moved in there to be close at hand for Bonnie's rudimentary skills in the healing arts to be put to use on them. This was one of those times. And in one of those beds, propped up against the wall, was Nick. The rest of the room was bustling with activity as Bonnie and a few of her assistants tended to the other wounded from the battle, but Judy had eyes only for her fox.
Judy dropped the spoon into the bowl of onion soup. She could tell from his breathing that Nick had just passed out, or fallen asleep. She supposed she couldn't blame him. And she had gotten enough of the soup into him before he had.
She glanced down at the spear still protruding from him before looking away again. In a few minutes, the soup would reach his intestines, and if the spear had pierced them the wound would smell of onions. If so... there was nothing they could do for him, except to give him the mercy of a quick and painless death. But if not? Then she would start the long and painful process of trying to save his life.
Time passed excruciatingly slowly, measured in the fox's breaths, but eventually - and too soon - it was time. She leaned forward - careful not to poke herself in the eye with the shattered haft of the spear, wouldn't that be a perfect end to the night - and sniffed gingerly at the wound. The smell of blood was overwhelming, of course, but thankfully, that was all there was.
The feeling of relief was overwhelming. All she wanted to do was to collapse over Nick and cry. But Nick's wounds needed tending, and with Bonnie working feverishly to keep Nathan alive a few beds down, there was nobody better for the task than her. So she checked the supplies she had prepared earlier - herbs, bandages, a sharp bone needle and thread made of gut - and took a deep breath to steady herself. Then she wrapped her hand around the shaft of the spear, and pulled.