Matilda's pov

When I was kneeling with the boy, the jingle of metal had not been silenced.

I pulled his soaked hair down over his forehead and said, "Keep still, Maren." Although there wasn't a severe cut across his brow, the blood spurted quickly, turning his cheek crimson. With a guilty expression on his face, his training buddy hovered close by.

The boy began, "I didn't mean."

I raised a hand. "Mishaps do occur. Get some water.

Relieved to have made it out, he ran. I returned ...