The sudden surge of adrenaline immediately made him sit bolt upright, and it was only after several deep, long breaths that he was able to calm himself. He kept focused on the fact he was no longer in danger, although this was made harder with the constant feelings of peril that had been incessantly gnawing on his consciousness for the past several weeks.
The distant sounds of battle didn't make it easier, either.
He struggled to his feet to change out his sweat-soaked clothes, and tried to rub some feeling back into his clammy skin. Although it was slowly beginning to regain function, his disabled arm made the task more difficult than he was accustomed to. He looked around searchingly for a nurse, but none were within sight: presumably they were all dealing with much more serious cases from the battlefront.
He signed quietly to himself, and collapsed back onto the bed only half-dressed, feeling drained. One of the unexpected downsides of being granted a private room, he supposed. Given the contributions he and his comrades had made, the Queen had ordered the absolute best medical care to deal with his wounds. Wounds that had been serious enough that when he had finally consciously looked at them, he had almost passed out from shock.
He was grateful, of course, for the attention. He was just still uncertain of whether he deserved them.
