Post by Anairë Faelandalan on Aug 13, 2010 3:34:35 GMT 2
Blood tainted the white linen that engulfed the bed; a soldier’s moan of pain filled the air only adding to the ever increasing tension. Men and women, who had been vigorously trained in the medical field, darted all around the infirmary tending to the wounded soldiers that seemed ever abundant as of late. Anairë busied herself with a man whose left arm had been severed from his body during a skirmish with other soldiers from Sanglant. Her lips pursed into a thin line as she concentrated on the wound, the uncontrollable bleeding beginning to become a dangerous problem.
“It will be alright,” she murmured gently after having finished applying an antibiotic potion to the stump; it emitted a sour aroma and was a thick substance the color of paste. “Try to relax.” The last statement seemed ridiculous even to Anairë, the pain the man had to be going through was certainly terrible but it needed to be said. There was a chance he would live if she could only get the bleeding to stop.
Turning to the left she stood and hastily walked over to a wooden cabinet and tugged open a drawer and grasped a thin, sharp needle and black thread. Once more at the man’s side she gave him a warning glance and gingerly began to stitch the wound closed. Grunts of agony burst from his mouth yet he did not pull away. Anairë patiently continued her work for an hour before she sufficiently had sealed the gap, only a small bit of blood trickled from the previously open stump. She applied another remedy to prevent against infection and to aid the clotting of blood. The soldier was extremely pale but if the injury did not become inflamed or open up shedding more of his precious crimson liquid, then he would live though life would never again be the same.
A stout woman came to his side and nodded her head towards Anairë signaling she would take over. Smiling thankfully at the woman she glanced worriedly at the man one last time before heading out of the infirmary and towards her chambers; fatigue beginning to course its way through her veins. But as soon as she sat in a chair in front of her desk restlessness overwhelmed her and reluctantly she stood, exiting her room and heading for the library. Bright torches illuminated the corridor; the flickering light making her shadow dance against the stone wall.
“It will be alright,” she murmured gently after having finished applying an antibiotic potion to the stump; it emitted a sour aroma and was a thick substance the color of paste. “Try to relax.” The last statement seemed ridiculous even to Anairë, the pain the man had to be going through was certainly terrible but it needed to be said. There was a chance he would live if she could only get the bleeding to stop.
Turning to the left she stood and hastily walked over to a wooden cabinet and tugged open a drawer and grasped a thin, sharp needle and black thread. Once more at the man’s side she gave him a warning glance and gingerly began to stitch the wound closed. Grunts of agony burst from his mouth yet he did not pull away. Anairë patiently continued her work for an hour before she sufficiently had sealed the gap, only a small bit of blood trickled from the previously open stump. She applied another remedy to prevent against infection and to aid the clotting of blood. The soldier was extremely pale but if the injury did not become inflamed or open up shedding more of his precious crimson liquid, then he would live though life would never again be the same.
A stout woman came to his side and nodded her head towards Anairë signaling she would take over. Smiling thankfully at the woman she glanced worriedly at the man one last time before heading out of the infirmary and towards her chambers; fatigue beginning to course its way through her veins. But as soon as she sat in a chair in front of her desk restlessness overwhelmed her and reluctantly she stood, exiting her room and heading for the library. Bright torches illuminated the corridor; the flickering light making her shadow dance against the stone wall.
