[ His chest screams as its stifled, drowning gasps pushed down to a shiver. He can't breathe - not as deeply as his failing body demands. Not while Gale holds the arrow in his shoulder, not while he saws the shaft. Not while one errant movement could empty him.
Godfrey holds his own hand so tightly, he nearly feels their bones grinding against one another. From there the tension spreads, up his thick arms, in the still eternity he is forced to occupy as the sharp edge is held steady in his firm and moving body. Every nudge a fresh laceration, each twitch a sparking fire under his cooling skin. He stares at the shadows congregating above them until they blur into hot, shapeless blue and black. Everything in him screams the same thing back in his ears - get him off.
He can't. It's only the first two. His good leg's heel digs into the dry and cold earth beneath him, an escape he can only temper so much.
The arrow finally snaps. He hears it as though the knife had gone through in his ear canal; too clearly. Godfrey doesn't hear Gale speak. He can't hear much of anything. If he could, he certainly wouldn't have understood the request through the painful overwhelm that bent his every thought.
But he gets his confirmation all the same; Godfrey takes a breath that seems to douse the wound in acid, a horrible gasping noise. His vision clears. He's breathing hard, but not hard enough - they break into sobs. ]
[The sobbing cuts right through him; it sounds so out of place, coming from the man who so often served as their very shield, and Gale's gaze flicks towards his face once more. If he's sobbing, he's breathing. He's alive. He will take that for waht it is.]
I'm sorry— I'm so sorry.
[To be the cause of any further pain or anguish— it's the last thing he wants, but these measures are necessary.
Godfrey's shoulders, at last, are properly immobilized. Gale finds his hands shake even as he carefully splints the arm in place, the process made easier by the removal of padding. It would have to be replaced, but they could worry about that later, presuming Godfrey was well enough to do so. He narrows his focus, blocking out what he can of his friend's groans and cries, refusing to let his pain tug at his own heartstrings for but a few moments so that he might properly do the job before him.
The arrow at his shoulder had been the worst of it all, the most threatening injury, and once the process of splinting is complete, he reaches for his waterskin, holding it to the paladin's lips.]
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mouthwashing got me in the mood to put the big pretty blond man in pain
Godfrey holds his own hand so tightly, he nearly feels their bones grinding against one another. From there the tension spreads, up his thick arms, in the still eternity he is forced to occupy as the sharp edge is held steady in his firm and moving body. Every nudge a fresh laceration, each twitch a sparking fire under his cooling skin. He stares at the shadows congregating above them until they blur into hot, shapeless blue and black. Everything in him screams the same thing back in his ears - get him off.
He can't. It's only the first two. His good leg's heel digs into the dry and cold earth beneath him, an escape he can only temper so much.
The arrow finally snaps. He hears it as though the knife had gone through in his ear canal; too clearly. Godfrey doesn't hear Gale speak. He can't hear much of anything. If he could, he certainly wouldn't have understood the request through the painful overwhelm that bent his every thought.
But he gets his confirmation all the same; Godfrey takes a breath that seems to douse the wound in acid, a horrible gasping noise. His vision clears. He's breathing hard, but not hard enough - they break into sobs. ]
let's ruin him (again)
I'm sorry— I'm so sorry.
[To be the cause of any further pain or anguish— it's the last thing he wants, but these measures are necessary.
Godfrey's shoulders, at last, are properly immobilized. Gale finds his hands shake even as he carefully splints the arm in place, the process made easier by the removal of padding. It would have to be replaced, but they could worry about that later, presuming Godfrey was well enough to do so. He narrows his focus, blocking out what he can of his friend's groans and cries, refusing to let his pain tug at his own heartstrings for but a few moments so that he might properly do the job before him.
The arrow at his shoulder had been the worst of it all, the most threatening injury, and once the process of splinting is complete, he reaches for his waterskin, holding it to the paladin's lips.]
Here. Drink what you can, I'll help.