Yngvildr watches as Thiudareiks gathers the men around him as she sees Widimir stumble into the hall. He joins his chief, but what is this? There is some red on his shirt. Blood? She moves over to him. He is a friend after all (although he did not come to her help when she would have needed him in battle) and there is no Ingvoldr any longer to care for him.

"This wound needs to be tended". Widimir protests mildly, but Yngvildr is strict. "No way. You want to continue fighting after all, right? So just sit down here." But what should she take to bandage it? There is nothing here and Amalasuntha, who would might possibly have some first-aid-kit somewhere cannot be asked right now. She needs to improvise. She takes the hem of her shift and tears a piece off it, dips it into a jug of water on the table and carefully cleans the wound. At least the blade that caused it seems have to be sharp, it is a plain cut and not too deep. She bows down and rips another piece from her shift, folding it and putting it gently on the wound. Widimir bears her treatment fairly well. Now all she needs is a long strip of cloth to hold it in place. She lets her eyes wander. Yes, there is a scarf, apparently lost by some of the other ladies. She takes it and wraps it carefully around Widimir's body. "That should do very well". Looking down at the sad remnants of her shift she mumbles "...but this doesn't do very well at all..."