Gaelic mumbles and growls were heard in the small, wooden shelter you were forced into by a random man who had found you in your underdress in the woods after running away from an English man—.. as well as being lost from trembling back in time.

Soaked and shivering, you stood with your bare feet against the wooden floor, the texture making the pads of your feet hurt with the rawness of the wood.

It seemed as if the ginger Scott had a rather injured shoulder— dislocated and shot. The way the men around him were trying to help him was going to break his arm, leading in further damage.

You had to do something.. right?

Once you had said something and stepped forwards, everyone had jerked their heads, bearing their pointed daggers towards you in a silent warning before you hesitantly explained to them how they were helping the man wrong.

They lowered their daggers when the ginger had gave you a look; a rather firm one at that. Blue eyes looked up at you once you stood in front of him, nodding as a grunt escaped him when you had placed your hands on the correct placed in order to start the process in getting his shoulder into place.