[Flashback, Wasteland] Sting (Solo)

[Oluse]

511 AV Summer, 18

Oluse stood by the threshold of the cave, face out into the unforgiving night and gasping for the relieving mountain air, pure of the constant infectious reek that he lived in. Oluse had thought the smell would grow unnoticeable over time, but it hadn't, it had grown worse, and it's assault never lifted for a moment. Oluse knew the air was growing unhealthy for them all, and he knew what must be done. He cast a watery eyed glance over his shoulder to Maevon, who with a steadfast stomach sat beside her dying husband. For that's what the man was doing, something Oluse knew now he should have told Maevon weeks before. Something he wished he had the courage to still tell her that moment. He didn't.

Despite his weakness of heart, his tears did not water for emotion, but for that foul odor. He had not been able to shed a tear for the man, or for himself. His guilt kept him from indulging in such luxuries as emotional release. Maevon could cry, for she was innocent and losing her love. But, Oluse felt responsible for what had happened, and as such must face the repercussions without tears.

[Oluse]

He took another deep breath of the fresh air, still not managing to escape the stench, which seemed to have impregnated his own lungs. Then, he approached Maevon, this time not bothering to tie the thick strand of hide around his face to block the smell. He needed Maevon to see his face when he spoke. He would look her in the eye, and try to make it simple. He wished he felt more confident about the decision, however. He wished that he had been more confident about it the night he first noticed the infection.

"Maevon." He choked out from behind the odorous wall of air engulfing them. She turned and looked to him. She did not look at him, however. She peered past him, as if he was not a person anymore. She didn't seem to truly look at anything any more. The stare broke Oluse's heart every time, and he had yet to stare her in those passive eyes directly since the injury. But, he forced himself this time. He stared straight into the wraith like globes, holding in them only a capacity to see deaths swift approach. Oluse found doubt in his own soul as he looked to the women, and wondered if she would finally deny his lies, finally deny all remnant of hope she had so desperately clung to before.

[Oluse]

She did not respond for almost a full minute before Oluse came up with the words. They had been in his mind before he approached her, but his throat felt as if it were being strangled, compressed by the stench, and by those empty eyes. When he went to speak all that came forth was a croak at first, so he stopped and cleared his throat. He needed to speak clearly, so he waited for the words to come to him. Finally they did, and they came out clearly, without a hint of meekness.

"We need to amputate his leg."

Her eyes drew wide a moment as the weight of his words met with her sharp wit. That wit however was worn from sleepless cold nights alone at her husband's side, and did not still have the capacity to stay her first response. The pain was sharp and unrestrained as Maevon's palm met squarely with not insignificant force upon the boy's exposed cheek.

[Oluse]

Before the act had even permeated Oluse's mind Maevon let out a gasp, more a horrified squeak, her hand rising toward her face to cover it in shame. But, she found the strength to refrain from that act. Her still stinging hand stopped a moment in mid air, then went back to her side. Her eyes locked again with Oluse's, this time resolute and stoney.

Oluse wanted to touch his cheek, it felt a bit like it was bleeding. It stung horribly, and his mind told him to tend to it. Even his neck felt tight and overextended. He did not reach up, however. He knew that he deserved that for what he had said, and that he deserved much worse for the words he had not said.

"Do it." Maevon uttered clearly. Oluse would never ever understand her willingness to believe his sub par subterfuge. Her marriage to the idea that her husband could live through this. Despite this apparent faith in the teen's skills Oluse could see only hatred and desperate anger in his companions once kind vibrant eyes.

[Oluse]

The preparation was slow. He explained the general theory of the procedure to Maevon before they started, though he felt that much of the information was lot on her sleep deprived mind, and in his undeveloped ability to teach. She was responsive in setting up, however. Upon his instruction she had collected two strips of long sturdy leather cloth, their oscillating saw, thread suitable for simple sutures if needed, her hunting knife, and a pot of boiling water. He was missing a few things; a file, a wide blade, and sedatives.

He had Maevon build up the coals of the fire to provide more heat, and used an empty pan with leather wrapped around it's handle to replace the wide blade. That was essential, and he would need it later. With the pan rapidly warming upon the searing coals he tied cloth around his face to withstand the stench, and settling in next to his patient.

[Oluse]

He focused on his usual method of calming himself, but found the task difficult, due to the twisted knot of doubt and anticipation in his gut. He first tried to focus upon the wind. But, with his eyes closed his other senses heightened and all he could feel was the horrible stench permeating his soul. To that he opened his eyes, and looked out the passage to the roaring snow laden wind outside. It worked, but he needed to be focused upon his patient, not outside. He had to tell himself that there was no world outside of that weak firelight. That there were no other people in the world than himself and his patient. Slowly his eyes panned onto the man. He was chalky pale, and covered in a viscus layer of sweat, that gave a chilled glossy sheen from the cinders near by.

His breath was shallow, but Oluse could feel it. He could hear it's wheezing attempt to draw in life. Oluse let his awareness focus on that, and that alone. Yurvik had been unconscious for eight days without reprieve, but still he had not given up on life. If he could fight for his life, when he had barely the strength to draw in breath, then Oluse took strength that he as a trained and perfectly healthy young man could fight for it as well. This thought calmed him as he let Yurvik's breath push away the words of doubt that sprung forth in his mind.

[Oluse]

The following step of his meditation proved much easier, for the heat of the fire seemed to burn a hole in his heart. He let that pain in, and used it to fuel his attempt at redemption. That guilt and pain was to be his fuel, his drive as he fought to save the all but lost man before him. He invited that heat and passion and life into his body, willed it to lend him the strength he needed.

He ended his meditation as he dipped his hands into the warm water. Just shy of boiling. It hurt, but he invited that too. He soaked his hands, then dried them thoroughly. He would need his hands to remain warm throughout the procedure, and could not afford for them to be numb of clumsy. He allowed the water to wash all of that from his mind as well. Like washing dirt from his head he let the cloud of distraction and doubt wash away in the pot of burning water, leaving him clear and refreshed.

With his new found calm he carefully washed all of the tools he would be using, and took the time to explain what would be done to Maevon once more before they began.

[Oluse]

His confidence in his abilities would have been more substantial had he actually ever seen an amputation. He knew the steps, in theory, and had been giving a fair amount of thought to the application of this knowledge since he first spotted the infection. He of course omitted this information from his teachings to Maevon, and lead her to believe that he understood the practice well enough to make a fair attempt. He felt comfortable enough allowing Maevon to believe the only risk was the lack of proper tools. Oluse knew otherwise.

Structure :

"Ok, Maevon. Three, two... one. Now." Both of their hands set poised armed with thick straps of leather, loosely strung around his leg. Maevon's strung just superior the base of Yurvik's adductor magnus. Oluse's set about the inferior. On the young man's queue they both pulled the tourniquet's tight around the once strong muscles, cutting off circulation. "Tighter." Oluse instructed Maevon through gritted teeth as he used all of his strength to tie his down. Maevon pulled her's tighter, and Oluse jerked his head in a nod at her. Her's would allow slight blood flow once the procedure was done, Oluse's would halt the flow completely. It took less than a handful of moment, and Oluse started the counting in his mind, lips moving slightly to the thought. Unthinking, Oluse counted away the moments he had to complete his morbid work. His best guess was five minutes before the effects of avascular necrosis would detriment Yurvik's ability to heal the wound that would remain after the amputation, without opening the new wound to further infection.

[Oluse]

Firmly Oluse grabbed the hilt of the carving knife laid to his right. Without hesitation he felt out with his left hand, running firm fingers along the cleavage between what he hoped to be Yurvik's vastus medialis and lateralis. He measures off approximately three fourths of each muscle, then cleaved. The sensation was sickening, the blade sunk into the warm flesh with more ease than it had the rigor mortis corpses of deceased elk he had sectioned off before. Oluse had never cut into living flesh before then, and the sensation churned his stomach with guttural repulsion.

Unsedated, Yurvik's eyes flew open, adrenaline pumping into his mind and body. His leg began to raise, and in response Oluse pushed his full weight down on the man. Oluse, however, could only find the already infected wound to base his pressure, causing a shrill screech of excruciating pain to project forth from Yurvik's constricted throat. "Hold him down." Oluse instructed loudly to Maevon. Maevon followed the instructions, but not before she spotted a horrifying sight.

[Oluse]

A burst of crimson, coal lit blood spurted recklessly from Yurvik's new wound. Amongst the thrashing Oluse's blade had slipped, leaving a long gash running up Yurvik's leg, only stopped after cutting through half the first tourniquet. The severed cloth gave way for continued blood flow, and the wound took to doing what came horrifyingly natural to it. Bleeding.

The second spray caught Oluse in the face as he pulled the blade back, and opened his mouth to give another command. Blood filled his senses, as it seemed to flood into his nose and mouth. One eye only saw darkness and blood red. He gave a cough, but his own adrenaline was in command by then, and his attention was unwavering. "Tighten it!" He commanded, as he ignore the tourniquet, allowing the blood to flow, and continued his sickening chore of splitting the muscle from bone.

Maevon reached out for the torn cloth in her confusion and Oluse snapped heartlessly, "The other one!" Maevon's correction was swift, and her hands quickly worked to tighten the tourniquet she had applied.