• Closed • Oh, I'd give an arm for a good medic.

[Alora]

3rd of Ymiden, Arc 718

Halfway between Bastard's Grove and Yaralon, Alora hobbled along, nursing the crudely stitched bear bite she'd received a few days prior.

She needed healing, the wound was painful enough on its own, but now an electric pain radiated from the source of the wound down her arm and elbow. She figured there might be some damage those backwoods rangers weren't able to patch. In any event, she doubted she'd find a healer out here, on Fool's run. She'd asked among the caravan she was trailing behind if there were any who could patch her up beyond what she already had.

No takers.

She hoped beyond hope that there might be someone on the way who knew how to properly stitch and disinfect a wound. If not, she might lose an arm.

"Better get that bite looked at missie!" One of the dullards she was traveling with observed. She spat in his general direction.

Another chimed in, whistling, "Boy, that beast done a number on you!" He chuckled, walking off toward where the beasts of burden carried the baggage of everyone.

Alora rolled her left shoulder a bit, and winced in renewed pain. She checked her bow to see if it was still strapped to her back. The Naer was beginning the feel the effects of the bite. A fever was rising. Or perhaps she was getting paranoid.

Either way, if she didn't find a healer soon among this uncouth throng, she'd take a torch and burn the wound. Nerve endings be damned.

[Triage]

Alora would hear a strange sound coming from the wheels of a caravan. Bump-bump... bump! They were running over something small, not enough to damage the wheels or be noticed by the drivers as more than a rock, but it would be something to catch the Naer's attention. If she looked down, she would see a pair of small iron scissors, mud-coated and flattened.

Up ahead, a redheaded figure was bent over in the grass, retracing her steps. It was dangerous to be alone in Fool's Run, yet there was one fool with her eyes on the ground! With her cloak and the tamo daggers jutting from her hip, she looked well prepared, yet she looked as if something was missing. Triage had made the Run trials prior, but it had taken her this long to finally realize what she was missing. Her First Aid kit, although not a proper replacement for a full set of surgical tools, was all she had to provide the care required for her work. If the surgeon was missing just one supply from it, she was doomed. After looking throughout her small abode and the steps taken from the Gate, she had realized there was only one place they could be.

The woman could buy a new pair, but the scant amount of Nels she had were being put to use for drab necessities such as 'food' and 'water'. So there she was, a strange medic unaware of the caravan quickly approaching. Her facial expression was twisted into a scowl, lower lip bitten. If she couldn't find them soon... she would be woefully unprepared for the rest of the Cycle.