Oluse smiled and took a step away from his patient to give him some breathing room. "That is very kind of you, thank you." It was genuinely nice to hear he was willing. It was very rare for Oluse to ask anything of other people. He was always the one helping, always the one giving, to take was unusual and scary for Oluse. But, to be given so freely gave promise, not only that he might be able to get close to his horse, but that he might also be able to explore this odd residual sensation he still held inside of him from the storm.
"Now to make sure you aren't at risk of infection." Oluse said tactfully, what he really meant was that it was to be the painful part. He scooped up the fine razor and asked Ronan to sit down, one he was Oluse as carefully as possible began to scrape away at the wound. He timed the slightest of cuts in perfect timing with his breaths so as to utilize complete control of his hand. If there was anything he had learned since being in Avanthal, it was to keep a steady hand. He worked slowly, trusting his tonic to slow the blood, and not wanting to repeat the process because he missed anything. The salve he applied would keep the area somewhat numbed, but not enough to sideline the pain completely. The first scab was the easiest, a tactful decision to test his skill before moving onto the smaller more uneven gashes.
One the scab and a tender layer of the newly healed skin was removed, along with one peice which was in fact fighting infection, he let the bits of flesh gather of the flor for later, and tossed the razor in a shallow basin of the infection fighting water, then used the same basin to wet towels of the softest weave available and began washing away at the interior of the wound. He was proud of himself, actually. How quickly his hands had learned to move, without losing their celeritic grace. It was a matter of seconds before he was dabbing away at the moisture left behind and applying pressure to the wound to slow bleeding. "Hold this, keep even pressure on it, and don't press so hard it hurts of the skin separates." A different tone than before, no loud, but certainly not soft. There was a leader in Oluse, one that showed itself as he worked. Once Ronan hand held firm again his own wound Oluse moved on.
Pulling out the long stretch of fine twine he fixed it carefully to the end of his cleansed needle, and turned around giving the wound a moment to heal. His mind drifted a moment from his work, and he picked up on the conversation minutes past. "I work tomorrow, but the day after I could get time off. Perhaps midday?" He looked at the rest of the gashes knowing this would take some time. "Ronan, I should warn you that how these are being healed, having to be reopened. They are likely to never heal cosmetically. You will have scars, likely prominent ones. If this a problem after a season any competent medical professional can begin prescribing you a salve to and infusions to help them fade. It would be ambitious to expect them to completely go away, considering how dark your skin is." He didn't think to explain that those that had had less sun seemed to have stronger skin.
With that he had Ronan remove the cloth and slowly and carefully applied multiple sutures along the gash, tying each one snug and in an expert fashion, his agile and soft fingers just slightly died a darker colour on the tips and around the cuticles, handing the knots with the easy only granted by extensive repetition. Even to a laymen his skill in his own field was evident, and his focus undeniable. Which, ironically, was the very thing Oluse strove to fix. He wished to be able to speak freely with his patients as he worked, to keep their mind off the pain, but instead he often fell quiet.