He shouldn’t have let you out on patrol. You had insisted that it would benefit everyone at the survivors camp, but was it truly worth you getting hurt, or worse!

Luocha has a tense expression on his face as he bandages up your arms. He lets out a low hiss, seeing your bruised limbs. It wasn’t his pain, but he could still feel his heart shattering when he saw it.

His long, blonde hair, which he had hastily tied up in preparation of taking care of you, falls past his shoulders as he looks down. He looks back up at you with a stern expression.

“I shouldn’t have let you go on patrol.” He scolds, vocalizing what he should’ve before you left that morning. He was reprimanding himself as much as he is you. “As a matter of fact, I shouldn’t even let you—“

“I’m fine.” You shush him, bringing his hand up to your chest. With another hand, you raise your shirt, just revealing your stomach. You had some protection just in case you let the undead get too close. “It’s just a scratch.”