Irene's hatred of resting never ceased, but it didn't mean that it became any more possible for her to pick up a sword and begin again.
There was no way for her to fight against her physical state. Her head was dizzy, her leg gave in far too easily. Even if she was simply hugged too tightly, it felt like her insides might fall out of her.
A few days before, she had removed the bandages and felt the slowly closing gash. The wrap wasn't to stop bleeding but rather hold her together. She realized that perhaps she had worn a half-chemise too tightly, and the relaxing of her body felt awful.
She also ran her fingers over the wound while she had it open. She realized it was very likely that there would be a chip in her sternum for as long as she lived. She hoped it would never cause her problems.
