The cuff had rubbed her skin raw. Some kind of metal, it disagreed with her, and had set up a reaction that irritated enough so she found herself scratching without realising. That just made it worse, and now the whole area around her wrist was one weeping sore, drying up just enough so that when it cracked again it made her whole arm hurt.

“You think we care?” the guard asked, looking down at her in distaste.

“We’re prisoners of war,” she ground out, waving her hand under his nose. “There are rules about our treatment, and one of those is medical care when needed.” She stood up. “Well, I need it.”

He wrinkled his nose at the smell. “War’s over. You lost. Get used to it.”

“I. Need. A. Doctor.” She spoke slowly, as if to a child.

“Don’t you remember the last time you insisted on something we didn’t want to give?” The guard leered at her. “Might not just be a … an accident next time. Might be more. Maybe they’ll let me deal with you.” The leer grew. “Could be fun. Least, for me.”

She stared at him, her anger banked deep, and only the embers showing in her eyes. “Try.”

He laughed at her, but the prickling in his mind made him uncomfortable. “You threatening me?”

“Would I do that?”

He shook himself, trying to regain the upper hand, something he felt he was losing. “Well, far as I’m concerned, I don’t give a shit if your arm falls off. But I’ll pass your request on.” He nodded towards the door back into the compound. “Get back out there.”

She didn’t take her eyes off him for a moment. Then, a slight smile on her face, she turned. “Thank you,” she said formally, almost as if he’d asked her if she wanted milk and sugar.

“Don’t go thinking you’re gonna get anything, though,” he said quickly as she opened the door. “Maybe I’ll make sure you don’t.”

She didn’t answer, just walked back into the mud outside. As the door swung to behind her, closing with its thud of inevitability, she felt her shoulders want to sag. Not going to do that, she told hersel