[Every twitch, every sound, every breath sets Gale on edge; the consequences of fumbling this task are unthinkable, something he does not want to entertain for even a moment. For all the subjects that he has studied over the years, for every book he had read on medicine while following his alchemical pursuits, he had never thought about what it would be like to actually be in such a situation. It was easy to remain disconnected when it was but words on a page, easy to be matter-of-fact and decide that one understood the procedure, but the reality of it was not so neatly resolved. Far from it.
He exhales and remains steady, even as Godfrey's efforts to repress any show of pain beneath him make his stomach turn in on itself, twisted, and though it seems to take near an eternity, at last his blade makes it through to the other side and the shaft comes free.
Mystra's tits. He doesn't allow himself to feel even a moment of relief. Pull the arrowhead out only if you cut an artery. Blessedly, they had not, though he hates the idea of leaving them in place— he knows in practice, that may well save Godfrey's life.]
Splinting next.
[He works quickly, unable to ignore how pale the man beneath him appears, the wax-like pallor he has taken on as he bleeds.
No. No you don't, not tonight.
Gritting his teeth, he presses some of the cut padding to the open wound to stem the bleeding before he sets to immobilizing Godfrey's shoulders. Would that he had even a single healing spell at his disposal. After this, when the man was stable, he could take the time to brew something— but right now, they have minutes, at best. Perhaps even less than that.]
no subject
He exhales and remains steady, even as Godfrey's efforts to repress any show of pain beneath him make his stomach turn in on itself, twisted, and though it seems to take near an eternity, at last his blade makes it through to the other side and the shaft comes free.
Mystra's tits. He doesn't allow himself to feel even a moment of relief. Pull the arrowhead out only if you cut an artery. Blessedly, they had not, though he hates the idea of leaving them in place— he knows in practice, that may well save Godfrey's life.]
Splinting next.
[He works quickly, unable to ignore how pale the man beneath him appears, the wax-like pallor he has taken on as he bleeds.
No. No you don't, not tonight.
Gritting his teeth, he presses some of the cut padding to the open wound to stem the bleeding before he sets to immobilizing Godfrey's shoulders. Would that he had even a single healing spell at his disposal. After this, when the man was stable, he could take the time to brew something— but right now, they have minutes, at best. Perhaps even less than that.]
Speak to let me know that you remain with me.