The moment the Balicani charged, Aoren dove over to where the unconscious Drykas man lay on the ground. He shielded the man with his body knowing perfectly well that mere flesh and bones would be useless against the raging fury of the great beasts charge. Ovek, Lord of Luck, it seemed was smiling on them at that particular moment. The combination of air and fire was enough to frighten off the terrifying creature. Aoren’s gambit had paid off. A wave of relief washed over him as the Balicani took flight in an angry panic. He pulled himself up off the ground kneeling beside the injured, unconscious man. Gingerly he placed a hand just above the man’s mouth and nostrils to feel for his breath. He was still breathing though Aoren could barely feel it.
The panicked sound of cries for help drew Aoren’s attention from the unconscious man. His blue eyes turned to see the Drykas leader kneeling beside a fallen comrade grasping his hands for dear life. The young man had a severe abdominal laceration and was bleeding profusely. Looking over the unconscious man once more, Aoren jumped up going over to where the other wounded man lay. His life was ebbing out of him by the second. Without any prompting Aoren dropped to his knees on the other side of the man, opposite the Drykas leader, and pressed his hands upon the bleeding wound. He looked up into the panicked man’s eyes.
“Pressure. Here.” The man has been gored by the Balicani. The horn had ripped open a portion of his abdomen and it was a grizzly sight to behold. Aoren raked through the extent of his medical knowledge. It wasn’t much to go on. He knew anatomy. He knew what he could see with his eyes. He lifted a hand briefly to see if the man’s intestines were still intact. From the looks of it the Balicani’s horn had just ripped through flesh and muscle. It needed to be cleaned, bound and closed otherwise the man would perish. Aoren looked up.
“Lenne! I need a bandage. Anything. Something made from cloth. We have to cover this wound to keep him from bleeding out!” Aoren knew pressure was key. He knew that they had to keep it as clean as possible but in the middle of the wilderness that wasn’t likely so saving as much of the man’s blood was the priority. Looking around Aoren searched for anything that could substitute for what he needed. He was running out of time. Glancing down at his already torn shirt he made a split second decision. Grabbing the Drykas leader’s hands he firmly guided them to the man’s abdominal wound and pressed down. He knew it would be uncomfortable for the injured man.
“Pressure. Hold.” Once he was certain the Drykas leader understood, Aoren reached down grasping the hem of his shirt. He pulled it off over his head revealing a firmly muscled torso honed from years of physical labor and a disciplined lifestyle. Without a second thought the young man began tearing his shirt into strips. He yanked on the tough fabric with a grunt, the linen giving way beneath his forceful tugs. Aoren balled up a few of the strips to form a makeshift rag to catch some of the bleeding and potentially assist in helping slow its loss. He shoved it under the Drykas leader’s hands then made him reapply the pressure.
With a furrowed brow, Aoren then took one of the longer strips of cloth readying it to wrap around the injured man’s waist. He tucked an arm beneath the wounded man’s back and lifted, the muscles in his arm and chest straining as the man was mostly limp. Aoren quickly lay a few strips of cloth beneath him tugging them over to the opposite side so he could compress them down upon the rag in the man’s abdomen. As gently as he was able he lowered the injured man back down to the ground then set to work binding his wound. By the time he was finished the rags being pressed into the man’s abdomen were quite bloody. To himself, as he tied off the bandages, Aoren offered up a silent prayer.
“Please, please, let this work.”
NoteI blame chat for some of the contents of this post!