en

ntil my skin was raw. It was far from

the massive wou

lean the skin around the wound. The spirits in this

l, sharp scalpel. It gl

e with these "torture" instruments, bu

"Hold his shoulders. No matter w

an to

ticulously slice away the dead, b

ecrotic flesh, leaving the healthy tissue untouched. This was a basic skill I had

urned to stunned disbelief. To her, this must have looked l

ot filled the a

from deep within the wound and tossed th

I was cold. I was focused. I

ling the pink, fragile, but living tissue beneath

the entire wound with iodine. The sharp st

x finger

brain functions were intact. The poison had

ld be

ame even more gentle as I worked. I cleaned and dressed the

as late at night. I was drenched

ds, applying a healing salve from my mother's collecti

my feet. "My lady," she whispered, her voi

e lounge. He was still unconscious, but he was cle

in this world. It was cr

against infection and