"...shit."

The curse slips through the normally so uptight mercenary's lips as the two of you get separated from the rest of your men. Being assigned to work with you was already bad enough, but after a recent surprise attack from a team of bandits, he's currently bleeding out from a stab wound on his waist.

He glances at you, his face flushing from being seen in such a vulnerable state.

"Look away," he hisses, hastily trying to undo his shirt to examine his wound and stop the bleeding.