Drake held the wound open as best he could from the surface, one hand splayed out around it and providing pressure out. Then came the forceps, expertly wielded. It was almost like he'd had full-on surgical training, before the Gift had ever been trained! Which, of course, he had. And he'd been a prodigy even then.
Thus the tool was used with utmost precision, no scraping against the narrow wound as he went. Through his other hand, the Gift slid in and reduced inflammation, funneling building fluids away from the wound to make the passage stay open and clear. Even the remaining trickle of blood was siphoned out and away, keeping the hole clear.
He got 'hold of the silver ball and carefully eased it free of the bones it had shattered, then drew it out in one smooth, well-practiced motion. Drake wasn't two thousand years old, but most of his life had been dedicated to medicine in one form or another, and his longest experience was as a regular surgeon with no Gift to assist him. The Gift, now fully-trained, was another tool in his arsenal.
"Alright ves'tacha, you're familiar with the bone process." It was going to feel weird, but he was precise, setting the bloodied tool and the buckshot aside to be sterilized later. Bone fragments began to shift inside the wound, guided by the Gift now inundating the wound site. Sharp edges were taken with extra care, to not slice up the tissue around it further as his pelvis was essentially re-built from the inside, and splinted together with a complex web of Amberdrake's own life energy.
Then came the soft tissue, and the process was mostly the same as the wounds on his thigh, regrowing and stitching together meat and vein and muscle and tendon bit by bit from the inside up toward the surface.
"Don't you dare try to walk on this yet," Drake added to Sanzo in the common tongue, once his hip was completely repaired, right up to the skin patching over with fresh growth. "Or I'll paralyze the whole thing. And you know the disclaimers about bones."
His energy would hold it together, but it wasn't as strong as properly solid bone. Bones would need to knit over time, or they'd become fragile. The best he could do was hold it all together in proper alignment against a reasonable level of force. Sanzo would probably have a cane for a while, after this. He finished with wrapping Sanzo's thigh with one of the rolls of bandages, offering some compression support for the remaining gouges over the top of the priest's jeans.
Next, would be Cassian, but Drake paused while he was still kneeling on the blood-soaked dirt to produce that small thermos from in his robes and take a pull of the too-hot liquid. It burned his mouth and throat something fierce, but it was best to start getting the herbs into him sooner rather than later. He could not afford to over-extend, especially in Goddess-damned Everglade.
no subject
Thus the tool was used with utmost precision, no scraping against the narrow wound as he went. Through his other hand, the Gift slid in and reduced inflammation, funneling building fluids away from the wound to make the passage stay open and clear. Even the remaining trickle of blood was siphoned out and away, keeping the hole clear.
He got 'hold of the silver ball and carefully eased it free of the bones it had shattered, then drew it out in one smooth, well-practiced motion. Drake wasn't two thousand years old, but most of his life had been dedicated to medicine in one form or another, and his longest experience was as a regular surgeon with no Gift to assist him. The Gift, now fully-trained, was another tool in his arsenal.
"Alright ves'tacha, you're familiar with the bone process." It was going to feel weird, but he was precise, setting the bloodied tool and the buckshot aside to be sterilized later. Bone fragments began to shift inside the wound, guided by the Gift now inundating the wound site. Sharp edges were taken with extra care, to not slice up the tissue around it further as his pelvis was essentially re-built from the inside, and splinted together with a complex web of Amberdrake's own life energy.
Then came the soft tissue, and the process was mostly the same as the wounds on his thigh, regrowing and stitching together meat and vein and muscle and tendon bit by bit from the inside up toward the surface.
"Don't you dare try to walk on this yet," Drake added to Sanzo in the common tongue, once his hip was completely repaired, right up to the skin patching over with fresh growth. "Or I'll paralyze the whole thing. And you know the disclaimers about bones."
His energy would hold it together, but it wasn't as strong as properly solid bone. Bones would need to knit over time, or they'd become fragile. The best he could do was hold it all together in proper alignment against a reasonable level of force. Sanzo would probably have a cane for a while, after this. He finished with wrapping Sanzo's thigh with one of the rolls of bandages, offering some compression support for the remaining gouges over the top of the priest's jeans.
Next, would be Cassian, but Drake paused while he was still kneeling on the blood-soaked dirt to produce that small thermos from in his robes and take a pull of the too-hot liquid. It burned his mouth and throat something fierce, but it was best to start getting the herbs into him sooner rather than later. He could not afford to over-extend, especially in Goddess-damned Everglade.