"But... But..." She hesitated, her hand on the dog's head. She seemed to be having trouble processing, and her brow furrowed as she tried to get her thoughts together, evidently distressed.
"Poppy, please.." his voice was quiet, and he picked up his phone again. "I'm going to call a medic."
She turned her head and pointed at the bag she had carried in her arms where she had meticulously packed their lunches. She had dropped it when she fought, and everything was spilled out. "The food is on the ground," she said. "We need to clean that up. That's littering."
He dialed the number and called, taking her hand with his free one. After a few moments of speaking, he hung up. "I will, okay? Once everything is sorted out."
She frowned and looked back at Tom. She seemed to be unable to figure out what she was suppose to worry about, and cocked her head, evidently confused.
"Uhm...." She trailed off as she tried to focus. "One of them hit me against a tree, so my ribs are really hurting. I'm okay, though. I can still breathe."
She focused her eyes on him after a moment, obviously trying to concentrate. "It's... it's pretty dizzy," she admitted. She cocked her head. "You're very handsome. You know that?"
He put his hand on her head, hoping to help with the bleeding. "I appreciate it," he said distractedly, checking his phone with impatience.
"No, but really," she insisted. "Your jawline is very nice. And you have kind eyes. You are very handsome." She rolled her eyes back to look at his hand on her forehead. "What are you doing? I don't have a fever."
"You have a really big cut on your head," he said softly, concern etching his features. "You're the only medic here right now, too."
"I'm perfect," she said, crinkling her nose. Her face seemed to be growing paler. "No one has ever been as good as I am in the history of the world.
She waved off his concern. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she began before swaying dangerously, her eyelids fluttering.
