Mama is livid.

She keeps yelling even as she wraps up my cuts and covers my skin in poultices. I'm too scared to tell her that it's kind of hard to breath but she must have figured it out because she keeps bringing me blackberry leaf tea.

I'm not allowed to leave the house anymore except to help around the gardens and only if I have a chaperone. I don't know if it's in case I fall and hurt myself or in case someone sees me from the road.

Mama's looking anxious, fixing the wards every few hours, as if they've moved in that time. Dad and Grandpa don't say much aside from tutting over all the swelling, but they seem tense, too.