Michael's large, careful hands worked through her hair. The girl watched as the water around her turned murky with blood and filth. She couldn't help but weep quietly.
After rinsing her curls, Michael grabbed the bar of soap and urged her to sit up, which she did slowly.
Minka felt her stomach flutter when he began to wash her back, his skin moving back and forth against her own. Her crying diminished into sniffles.
His hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, around her neck. The soap smelled spicy, like pumpkins. Willingly, she curled her legs so that Michael could wash them as well. Her tired eyes watched his every movement; delicate, elegant, caring...
It made no sense, but wasn't she lucky to be the only one whom Michael treated in such a way?
No. Luck wasn't a factor. It went beyond that.
When he finished washing her body, Michael lifted her out of the water by her arms and gave her a towel, which she held against her chest. A small oomph left her when he scooped her up.
"My bedroom is upstairs," She whispered, curling against him for warmth. He gave her the candle to hold and walked into the hallway. The flame illuminated the large living room, the furniture and decorations rustic and earthy.
It all looked and smelled so familiar, giving her a sense of comfort and safety.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Minka pointed to a door on the right. Michael opened it slowly and walked in.
"There..." She pointed to the small bed situated in the far corner. He carried her to it and placed her down softly against the many pillows. The nurse closed her eyes.
She'd never been so grateful for a mattress.
When she opened them, Michael was gone; his heavy footsteps echoed through the cabin. A short-lived spark of concern flared within her, but it couldn't keep her from falling asleep.