I walked along, following her every step, trying not to limp in the slightest. I thought of how characters in my books would experience excruciating pain but perfectly hide it when facing their enemies, but I faced no enemy and my pain was not excruciating. I could bear it for half an hour more.

We continued walking along the sidewalk, the shoe scraping against my heel. Up when I lifted my foot, down hard when I dropped it. Was the bandage even still there?

"I got something in my shoe again!" I called, stopping so I could check on it, and the bandage was indeed still there. Perhaps I had put it in wrong, but I didn't want to hold her up by taking too much time placing it properly.

I hobbled after her, and we continued along, the bandage doing little to stop the scraping. Lift, scrape. Place, scrape. Twist, scrape. I decided against excluding socks from my walking getup from then on. The pain suddenly became different. Less searing, more constant. Exist, pain. Exist, pain. I knew it was likely now bleeding, but I didn't dare stop her again. Holding in a wince, I made it to the crosswalk. The hand was still shining strong, so I risked a quick check.

Blood.