He put his arm up on the table, letting the healer poke and prod his injury. “You’ll need stiches,” she said. “And you’re lucky you didn’t break it.”
He just shrugged. He’d gotten used to the healers scolding him over his injuries. They’d even gone to Eomer King about it. “He’s pushing himself too hard,” they’d complained. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
But how could they understand? That any bit of praise was seen as coddling or favoritism because of who he was. He had to push himself. To prove himself and earn the respect of his fellow Riders.