You had already seen many wounds in your life, healed many things. Flesh was basically nothing more than clothing that was tailored to each individual bone.

Each person had different skin, different hair, but ultimately they all had the same flesh. They bled in the same way, felt pain in the same way.

The samurai had pale skin, somewhat different from Yuriko, whose hands and face were tanned by the sun. Presumably because she was used to life out in the fields.

A samurai, a noble one at that, had to enjoy the shadows of great palaces. Small black hairs grew on his chest, caked with his own blood.

You could tell he was a fighter, his arms were muscular from swinging blades and muscles were clearly visible on his stomach. Shallow breathing made his body move but his eyes were tightly shut.

"He's sweating.", Yuriko came with a bowl of fresh water and placed it on the other side of his head.

Then she dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a cloth and cleaned his face.

"I need boiling water.", you said, looking at the wounds and cuts on his upper body.

"What about his legs?"

Your gaze travelled down his body.

Unlike the Mongols, he was not unnaturally tall and had a rather agile build. He seemed less like a monster and more like a man.

Although sometimes both could be the same thing.

You closed your eyes and shook your head at the thought. No, he didn't seem to be a threat, and not just because he wasn't Mongolian.

Even though he hadn't said a single word or opened his eyes yet, you were more fond of him than Khotun Kahn. That was no mean feat either, the general was simply an obnoxious person.

"First the important wounds.", you decided and reached out for the cloth.

She handed it to you, got up and hurried to fetch another bowl with the boiling water you needed.

Lost in thought, you began to clean his wounds. Although some time had passed, the bleeding had not completely stopped. It usually coagulated over a period of time, from that moment on you had to be careful that nothing became infected and worse happened.

But with him it was as if he was bleeding for all the men he had lost on the beach that night. At first glance, most of the cuts didn't look too deep, just scratches and marks where the armour had done its job and warded off blades.

Only a deeper cut between two ribs would have to be sewn, the rest would have to be bandaged with ointment.

All the things you had managed to steal were scattered on the floor next to you. You still carried the captain's knife hidden on your chest.

Two small doses would be enough to help the wound heal and a bottle of painkillers so that he didn't have to suffer more than necessary. However, you weren't quite sure what would help with the fever.

His whole body was sweating and his lips were already turning slightly blue. This was partly due to the amount of blood he had lost and partly because he had had to lie on the beach in the cold after. It was probably not the wounds that would kill him but a cold.

Yuriko returned. She held a bowl of water in her hands, which was steaming so much that she could hardly see anything. She put it down next to you and then knelt down again on the other side at the level of his head.

"He looks noble.", she remarked as she wiped sand on his black hair. "Not very old either."

Lost in thought, you rummaged for your tools, pulled out the needle and thread and soaked them briefly in hot water. It burned when you took them out again to cover everything with ointment. That would also heal the wounds from the inside.

"Is that something special?", you asked without looking up, placing the needle on his flesh.

Your hands were shaking slightly. Even if you had done it a thousand times before, it was always nerve-wracking.

No two people were the same, no two wounds were the same. His flesh could be easy to stitch or it could tear at the slightest pressure and everything would get worse.

Yuriko watched your movements with curiosity. The first sting slipped through his skin. He twitched slightly. A gasp escaped his lips. You looked up.

He remained unconscious.

"Samurai are chosen by the shogun.", Yuriko said after a while. "Or they inherit the title."

You sewed the third row. The flesh was already closing up a little again. Blood ran down your fingers.

"I heard about that.", you said to distract yourself from the stench of iron and raw meat.

"Really?", she chuckled softly, pressing the wet cloth to his forehead with one hand. "Do you also know that our samurai live a long time?"

Your eyebrows rose curiously. The thread tightened under your fingers. The needle was so full of blood that you had difficulty holding it in place. Just four more stitches and the first problem was solved.

For the time being.

"Is that a legend?", you asked.

She shook her head.

"Tsushima had been at peace for a long time. Lord Shimura was a good leader. Under him, the lords did not fight and the clans were loyal to him."

"Impressive...", you looked up briefly to take a closer look at the man. "Could he be...?"

"He's not Lord Shimura. The lord is older. But perhaps he can be identified. For his family."

"He had a headband with him. On the beach, I mean."

"Do you know where it is?"

You turned your attention back to the wound. Deep red collected under the edges of your fingernails. Everything was sticky. It was strangely warm, but he felt colder with every breath.

"No. I don't remember."

Two stitches and the wound was so far closed that only a thin thread of blood oozed out. But even that dried up after a few moments.

Thoroughly, you washed your hands, the needle and the remaining thread. Then you applied more ointment on and around the wound.

"We have to turn him.", you said. "Please help me."