Oluse's stomach dropped an innumerable distance as his friend leaped through the air. His heart and breath seemed to come to a standstill. When her hand collided with the rough rock he literally took a step forward, almost losing his footing on the forgotten slope beneath him. He wanted to tell her to go back, his hand twitched as if reaching for her. His mind reeled, and he bit hard down on his lower lip as she dangled for a mere moment. A moment that seemed to promise hope. But, then, she fell. Oluse's stomach did a one eighty, rocketing up into his throat, his mouth opening to speak, but nothing but a helpless groan exited his small frame, as if displaced by his own distressed intestines.
His teeth slammed together in a pained grimace as he heard, and felt, the solid thud of the young girl's body connecting with the unforgiving stone. She rolled, and tumbled, as Oluse's groan grew longer, fluctuating with worry as she finally came to a reluctant halt. He heard nothing but his heart pounding as she lay there, for what seemed like forever to the young boy, unmoving. But then she let out an exclamation of her own, of pain. She had survived, and in response Oluse's legs scrambled him forward toward her, much less aware of his footing at that point.
"Alea," The name passed his lips, and he immediately felt dirty for it. His mind was in a panic, and as such thoughts were not connecting at full speed, nor effectiveness. He knew one thing without a doubt, however, or rather felt one thing. This was his fault. If he hadn't tried to help her, if he hadn't been so clumsy with his words she would be fine. He hated himself in that moment, he hated everything. This wave of emotions was worsened and heightened by the streaks of blood red he saw before him, as he finally settled to Alea's side. His knees hit the stone hard in his hurry, ripping a hole on his right pant leg. He didn't notice this, however, he only noticed that she was hurt.
He struggled to think of what he was supposed to do, what was supposed to happen when somebody got hurt. He thought of his father, yes his father was a doctor. His father would know what to do. But, then, he realized something. An epiphany, really. His father had taught him, so. And it was awkwardly slow and logical in his own mind's eye as he came to this conclusion. So, that meant that he too was a doctor. And if one doctor could do something, so could another. Which meant he must know what to do. "I know what to do." The words spilled from his mouth with more a sense of distracted surprise than true confidence. "Right." He looked down at Alea, shaking the sluggishness from his mind, trying to focus on the task at hand. He stared at the wounds, forgetting to communicate with his patient. He did not yet have the experience to gather information from her as he looked for himself.
oocheh so um ya... what are her wounds now?