Inspection

In the morning Yensen woke with the sound of the bats returning. It was still early dawn outside and all that remained of the fire were some hot embers of the fire. He draped a now dry tunic over the snoring form of Norgren and piled the remaining clothes within his reach. Yensen helped himself to two of the remaining bats and placed the last three on a strip of bark near to Norgren. He took up his axe and check he had his rabbit snares in his pouch. He took a last look around the camp and made sure the hearth was safe. Then he strode quietly for the cave entrance.

Shortly later, Yensen returned carrying a fresh stock of fire wood. He stacked them near to the fire, close enough to dried by the heat still in its heart, but far enough, so as not to catch. Yensen figured they could risk a fire a night, but in the day any smoke would be too easily spotted. This stock would make lighting easier. He made several such trips and then finally was gone for a long while.

When Norgren awoke, his body ached all over. His ribs hurt when he breathed and his arm was throbbing. He felt though, a whole let more human and was surprised at how much mobility his left arm had. He was no longer freezing and, finding the pile, pulled the trousers on to keep what he could of his new found comfort, but he picked up the shirt and carried it with him.

Yensen was no where to be seen. He walked closer to the entrance, nearer to the light and he was pleased to see the rain had abated and some rays of sun were breaking through the clouds. He sat down stiffly and placed the kit belt at his side. He had lost his swords, but his pouches and knife were present. He tenderly felt along his ribs and over his chest. Two of them of them felt like daggers were stabbing into him with the slightest touch and he concluded they, at least, were broken. All that could be done for these was to lightly bind them and allow nature to heal them over weeks. But he couldn’t figure how, nor bridge the pain, to bind his chest himself with only one arm. That would have to wait until Yensen’s return.

He found the needle and thread, however, was still hanging from his chest. It wept slightly from near to the last stitch, but otherwise the wound was closed, albeit with the ugliest bit of stitching he had ever seen. He reminded himself to never let his mentor see this piece of barbaric handiwork. Norgren made a final tying stitch and, using the knife, cut off the thread.
His arm scared Norgren the most. The vambrace was still in place and buckled, although it badly needed an armourer as much as he was in want of a skilled surgeon. He looked at it a while, wondering if it was wise to remove the guard or best to leave it in place. Which ever choice he made, it was going to hurt eventually. He wrapped a piece of leather around a sick and placed it between his teeth and bit down. Then he commenced unfastening the clasps.
Initially, as the armour came loose and the blood was allowed to flow, the pain eased, but then it became excruciating and Norgren clamped his jaw upon the stick. He groaned pitifully and beads of sweat formed on his brow. But, as he plucked the courage to inspect the injury, his heart dared to gave new hope.
In his dreams, the bones of his forearm were shattered and protruding through the flesh. He imagined his right arm would have to be severed as his only hope of survival. Not only did Norgren know he would not have the stamina to amputate his own arm, he also knew he would sooner die than live without his sword arm. This he felt might just be survivable, although swollen with deep bruising already coming through, the skin was not broken and the bones were not both broken. He had seen many such injuries and was pretty sure the outer bone of his forearm was fractured, but not in two.
Norgren decided the vambrace would make the best splint, but not fastened too. He added two sticks from the fire supply to extend it and immobilise his hand and then bound it altogether with bandages. Finally he fashioned a sling about his neck and snuggled the arm against his chest. It rested beneath the wound, and felt reasonably comfortable.

Norgren stripped and spent a while to inspect the rest of his body. He found nothing more sinister, though his thigh had some bruises from Yensen’s kicks. He was sure he was sporting a shiner on his left eye and many cuts and grazes, but they were all superficial. With a little difficulty, he pulled the tunic over his body and re-adjusted the sling. Tired again from his exertions, he returned to the dying fire, made a pillow from an undershirt, lay down and pull the remaining clothes over himself.

Soon Norgren was swallowed by a deep sleep and dreaming of sweeter places. He skipped between pondering why Norgrenson had not returned to find him; perhaps the boy already thought his father was dead. Norgren couldn’t help but feel saddened that he couldn’t reassure his son or his loved one, he didn’t want them to feel his pain. As his thoughts and dreams twisted around and merged into oblivion, his body started to tremble. Beads of sweat began to grow on his skin. A red heat inflamed the wound on his chest and he slipped closer and closer into unconsciousness.