Ying-Shi dipped one of the clean bandages into the water and pushed the woman’s hair away from her wound. It was soft and well cared for, not the crackly straw of a woman who labored under a hot sun. His mother’s hair had been like that once.
Then he began. He cleaned the dirt and coagulated blood from the wound as best he could. He made the stitches tiny and close together, and was careful not to pull the skin too tight lest it bulge when it scarred. He didn’t realize that he’d been holding his breath until he was done.