Singular
i. wounds
-x-x-x-
Requested by Asherien [raphien on Livejournal].
Caring for those wounded in battle is not new to Priscilla, and yet when Kent and Wil carry Sain into the healer's tent after one particularly brutal skirmish, it is all she can do to not pass out on the spot, though her vision is suddenly blurred b tears and the back of her throat burns with bile.
"What happened?" she manages to choke out as she reaches for the Mend staff at her side.
Serra bustles into the tent, then, a bottle of wine clenched in her hands. "A staff isn't going to help something like this," she says as Dorcas follows her hesitantly into the tent. "Can you take his belt off for me? Yours too, Kent."
Priscilla leans forward to do as Serra has asked, but Wil shakes his head and stops her. "I'll do it," he says simply. Sain groans softly—they've given him a draught of some sort to dull his senses, though he is still conscious—and Priscilla forces herself to look at the wound again.
His boots and armor have been removed, and his right pant leg is soaked through with blood. Serra rolls up the pant leg to well above Sain's knee, and Priscilla feels her stomach churn when she sees the bright white splinters of bone poking through his flesh and the layers of dark, glistening muscles of his shin and calf twitching and spasming beneath the split skin. "What happened?" Priscilla repeats, feeling small and useless in the flurry of activity around her.
No one answers her question. Lady Lyndis enters the tent with a large block of wood and an old sack, and as the block is placed beneath Sain's leg, Priscilla quickly realizes what they are going to do.
"He'll never walk again if you do this," she tells Serra while the cleric tightens one of the leather belts around Sain's thigh, just above his knee.
Serra bites her lower lip. "He won't be able to walk again even if we can save his leg. And if the wound gets infected, what then?" She looks at her, and Priscilla is shocked to see the cleric's eyes brimming with tears. "What do you want me to do?"
"Serra," Kent says. He's holding Sain down by the shoulders, and Lady Lyn and Wil are on either side of Sain's body, holding him down at the waist and hip. Even Florina is there—though Priscilla doesn't remember seeing her enter the tent—holding a belt between Sain's clenched jaws, and Priscilla feels her respect for the young Ilian knight grow. "We're ready."
The cleric nods. "The bandages," she tells Priscilla, and Priscilla does as she is asked while Serra unstoppers the wine bottle and holds it over Sain's ruined leg. "Ready, Dorcas? On my count…"
The large man nods and hefts his axe, and when Serra finally counts to three he brings it down in one powerful stroke, cutting through the sinew and bone just below Sain's knee before the blade of the axe embeds itself in the wood block.
Almost as if she is in a trance, Priscilla immediately sets the roll of bandages beside Serra, even as the cleric begins washing the wound with the wine, its scent mingling with the blood pouring from the wound. Serra takes the roll and begins giving quiet orders to the people in the tent, and Priscilla leaves quietly in the chaos.
As Priscilla kneels behind a bush and retches, she wonders if the tears stinging her eyes are from the bile burning her mouth and throat, or something else entirely.
Xirysa Says: For the "one word" meme; each prompt consists of a single word, and I write a drabble/vignette based on that prompt.
This one happened to incorporate some medieval healing shenanigan (which I've been researching/thinking about as of late) even though it really doesn't involve leeches. :P
Feel free to request if you have a prompt idea in mind—the original prompt post can be found at my fanfiction archive on Livejournal, "a crooked house [dot] livejournal [dot] com" (minus the spaces), or just send me a PM.
Feedback and critique is appreciated as always. Thanks for reading!