"No." Lucas glares at the contents of the jar. "You can't be serious."
"You're just being dramatic now, Lucas." I sigh.
He pouts and hides his face against my neck, glaring at the offending items through the tiniest crack of his fingers. "No. I refuse. Nope."
"They're just herbs for the wounds. What's wrong with them?" I roll my eyes at his childlike behavior.
"It's rotten fruit soaked in rum! You cannot put that on a wound!"
"Says who? And do I look like an herbalist? They work fine on me. You don't want to get infected." I peer closely at the burns on his back.
He hisses, cringing away when my fingers graze near it. "Oww. Ow, ow, ow! I told you, it hurts. Gently! Gently, Diane!" He squirms around, shifting awkwardly.
I heave a sigh. "Okay, okay, we can try something else if you want. Calm down already." I pinch his ear and pull.
"Aaaaaagh! Let go!"
"Hold him down and I'll fix the squalling boy." Roland says suddenly, holding out his hand.
