This is from the section of my current WIP that I am writing. It fits the picture for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt perfectly.
Énna refuses to keep his bed. Says it’s his eyes that are gone not his legs. His head is bound about in bands of linen that Ciar changes twice a day as the wounds weep. She checks for the smell of decay and for the yellow pus of infection, but she can do little more except always be there, a presence that Énna can feel at his side. Bual, his dog, follows him like a shadow, returning some of the kindness Énna has shown him. The two of them walk like old men, slowly and carefully down to the river. Ciar is worried that Énna might miss his step and fall in, but he laughs.
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