This post...is not my best. :x lolol sorry. |D
Word Count → 419
Caspa soon returned with strips of cloth, and Swentzle nodded, though he couldn't see them; anything at this point would work just fine. He lay the male out as well as he could, and then moved down to the mangled leg, putting his hands on either side of the break. He felt his stomach squirm and his mouth water as though he were about to throw up, but he shook the feelings away irritably and narrowed his blind eyes as he felt the wound as best he could. When he knew exactly what he had to do--and had elicited enough pained noises from the male to make his heart clench and his stomach begin doing cartwheels--he turned his head toward Caspa again. "Hold him down for a moment, if you would. This is going to be painful." And his voice held a tinge of regret for that, though it didn't stop him from flexing his hands and, moments later, pulling and pushing the bone back into place.
It was indeed very painful, if the scream that came from the white dog's lips was any indication, but Swentzle could afford to do little more than shudder as he reached blindly for the bandages and began winding them tightly around the freshly bleeding wound. Fovea brought forward two sticks, about as long as the lower half of the male's leg, and with another strip of cloth he secured them to the sides of the male's leg, forming a make-shift splint that would, with any luck, keep it from healing wrong. When that was done--taking all of about ten minutes in all--he sat back, holding his bloody hands out uneasily as though not quite sure what to do with them now. Finally he snapped out of it enough to wipe the blood off on his loincloth and move to the injured man's side once more, his mouth set in a tight line as he felt for broken ribs. Some of the bones there moved in frightening ways, but there was nothing he could do about them; he merely reached for the last bits of cloth, and slid his arms around the male's back, winding them about his ribcage just as tightly as he'd wrapped the leg. He finished the process with a few more pain-killing herbs tucked into the white male's cheeks, but he was out cold by then--the pain having knocked him unconscious--and Swentzle sighed, hoping he hadn't done more harm than good.
Table by Aly, code by the Mentors!
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