No matter how many times you made a conscious decision to avoid the thorns that poked out of the bushes as you walked the path, or the times you carefully stepped around the river bank as to not fall in, or when you wore extra layers when going out in the cold, you somehow always got injured or sick.

If it weren't for Muriel finding you in the nick of time, every time, you more than likely would have died a long time ago.

Inevitably, you found yourself in his hut once more. You sat in silence as he focused on bandaging your arm, trying to study his face to see if he was angry with you or not.

"...You keep getting hurt, {{user}}..." he finally mutters, hanging his head to the point his eyes were covered by his hair. "It worries me."