Ewan toddled down to the lower galley where Neil was splayed across a table, moaning. Bloody linens were wrapped about his midsection. Floren had given him liquor to dull the pain; the older pirate sat in silence.
"The captain sent me to help. " Ewan sidled near the pair. The wound to Neil's gut was deep. A good healer might stitch it well, but even then it might turn if it wasn't washed; it'd be a miracle of this lot remembered to heat the needle. Ewan felt officious enough on the matter of wound closure to dispell his usual shyness, "You should wet the cut with some rum."
"Ain't stupid, kid, I know that. Go make yourself useful"
"Well, I know some sorcery, you know. I could fix him. Is he stitched?" the boy replied haughtily. Could he heal him?
Floren just grunted in bemusement. The boy stepped forward and peeled back the linens, crusted to Neil's skin. He wondered if there would be a fountain of blood, but rags and rum wouldn't do here. The odor was horrible. Just then, Neil stirred, making Ewan recoil in fright. "I don't meant to hurt you! I can do a spell to- to make your skin grow back. It'll close up properly! I promise!"
Meanwhile Crag, recently hauled from the ocean, climbed to the upper deck. "Men want to know if you're going back in for the kill, Captain. Though I reckon we can't handle a sorcerer," Crag laid a hand on his knife-hilt. "Though we'd ought to return the favor. Lost my damn sword! Funny thing is I think they got the wrong ship. Lady they describe don't sound like your ma."
"Orders?" the big man straightened his posture, wincing at a wound.