She paused to look around the wooded area again, wondering just how far he could have gotten after such a brutal attack. Had he been assaulted by thieves? Groups of gypsies roamed through the forest looking for victims to rob, but rarely did she hear of such cruelty as this. And for them all to gang up and torture one poorly-armed man? Not likely! Plus, there seemed to be no sign of any other people in the vicinity, nothing even indicating a fight. Still, how far could this man have possibly walked in this condition? Did he really escape the people after him all by himself, or had he perhaps defeated them? Were they nearby somewhere, still searching for him?
"Frya mone dugh, loua," (Go away from me, please) the man said quietly, turning his head away from her.
Sylvia examined his weary expression. He looked tired, embarrassed, and even like he had already given up on salvaging his own life. She felt a strange sense of responsibility for him, since he was quite lucky to even be alive right now. Without the proper care he would certainly die, and she was sure no one else who came upon him would be as concerned as her. People in this small country did not care much for foreigners. Often, she saw travelers and merchants harassed or ignored completely by those who despised their difference in origin. She, on the other hand, saw no reason to be prejudiced toward people not of her own kind, as they were all people in the end.
Sylvia looked back to the man. He did not seem interested in letting her tend to his wounds willingly, but she supposed there really was nothing he could do to stop her. Once he was healed he could go on his way, back to his own life. For now however, she was in control of his fate. So without a word she reached over and picked up one of his daggers, which had been thrown not too far away. The man watched her carefully, his eyes wide with suspicion as she picked it up and wiped its blade clean. Sylvia gave him a sympathetic smile to calm his nerves. "I know you will not like this, but you will just have to bear with me for a bit."
The man gazed into her eyes again, trying to understand her no doubt strange expression. Nevertheless, she got up and walked away, searching for some dry grass she could use to make a fire. She quickly found a large branch, and broke it into small usable pieces. Then she gathered up some leaves and twigs, setting them up in a small pile and lit a gently burning fire. After a few minutes of nurturing the flame Sylvia held the dagger to it, waiting until the metal turned a deep red color. When she came back towards the man he tensed up and eyed her with alarm and fear. "Just relax if you can," she said quietly.
He shook his head fervently and grabbed her arms before she could reach him, trying to push her away. Sylvia knocked his hands away and shoved a piece of branch between his teeth to keep him from biting his tongue. Then she apologized as she placed the burning hot knife to his deep cut. The man let out a loud roar of pain before losing consciousness again.