“So, how am I?” I asked, to change things a little, again.
“Pretty battered. And you could not smell worse if you had actually died.” Hilda tried to smile, but I could not return the gesture. “I’m afraid that about the smell we can do nothing. Your fur is stained with blood, sweat, mud and gasoline, burned grease. We have cleaned you as much as possible, but you will not be better cleaned for several days, I need your ribs to knit a little before you shed the fur. Understood? I had to operate on you again, and put a couple of titanium screws in there, you had double and triple faulty knitting, I figure because you have not stayed still. Otherwise, you were in pretty bad shape, but Toshi already brought me up to date on the reasons. One or two hours more, and your lung would have flooded.
