Oliver was thankful that she seemed to be determined to hold on to consciousness as much as she could, and he admired her for that. Other women her age, mostly nobles, would have willingly succumbed to the fainting, and leave all the worrying to the conscious ones. Oliver knew that he would have found help one way or the other had she remained out of it, but he knew the sooner the wound was treated the greater her chances of getting through this. And it didn't hurt that she seem to know what needed to be done.
Her gripped on his hand had tightened, and Oliver couldn't resist the urge to feel her forehead with the palm of his other hand. She was sweating hard and she was getting feverish, too. Not a good sign when the sun was high up and shining a tad too warmly all around them.
"White moss! We need white moss," Oliver shouted to no one in particular, and heard footsteps scurrying away to do as they were told. He turned to see Lot and his friend Kingsley hurriedly leave to search for the said herb. He had spied some on their way here, and hoped the two remembered where to look. Time wasn't exactly on their side right now.
Sir Siegfried and his other friend Abel started gathering firewood at Oliver's orders, after hearing the young woman ask that they make fire. What she needed it for with the hot sun shining overhead, Oliver didn't know. He however felt that it was vital to removing the arrow, and he mustered all the courage he needed to do as told when that time would come. Nobody was doing it for him. Oliver didn't want someone else to do it for him. If anyone was going to remove that blasted arrow from her shoulder, it was going to be him.
Grabbing the bag of water from beside him, Oliver brought it close to her lips. "You need to drink, at least to preserve whatever energy you still have left," he told her as he moved to gently cradled her head in his hand, careful not to unnecessarily jostle her wounded shoulder.
Not too soon after, a fire was cracking near them, but Lot and Kingsley hadn't returned with the white moss yet. "Stay with me, okay? I need you to tell me exactly what I'm going to do so I can help you out," he told her as he wiped the sweat from her brow. A genuinely worried expression on his face. "Forgive me for--" Before Oliver could finish his apology, his men arrived with a bagful of white moss and laid it on the ground next to her. He turned to look at the young woman expectantly, awaiting her instructions.
Well at least he seemed to care! And also didn’t question her orders, like Yassia knew some would have. But whoever this man was, he seemed to be rather a fighter, not so much caring for the why and why now, but tried to be as efficient as possible. Even though Yassia of course would have liked to not be shot at all, she knew she had to thank the stars for at least giving her these men for company. The one who cared most about her right now seemed to be their leader or at least something similar, because it was him who delivered her requests and made them into orders for the others to follow. Out of the corner of her eye Yassia observed someone leaving the scene, probably looking for the white moss. Now she only hoped that man knew what it looked like. Ordinary moss might be able to absorb blood as well, but somehow it would not help stop the bleeding. The oddities of nature…
He then told her to drink, and Yassia knew he was right, even though she dreaded the pain it would cause. Most humans never noticed how many muscles it took to swallow, or at least how many were affected by the movement… you only got to know it when you were in pain somewhere.
She was glad for his try to cradle her head, it made the drinking so much easier, even though it still caused her to gasp in pain. It was not his fault, as any single movement whatsoever right now would bring her pain. The water ran cold down her throat and Yassia gulped it down eagerly. Blood loss required you to take up as much liquid as you could to recompensate for it. Many healers gave their patients red wine when they had large bleeding wounds, claiming that was because of the similar looks of red wine and blood. But mostly it was also a very good painkiller.
Having drunk enough for now in her estimation, Yassia leaned her head back again and tried a thankful smile that sadly looked a bit forced and lopsided. The warmth and the smoke of the fire was slowly wafting towards her, and she knew that as soon as the white moss arrived, her period of grace would be over. She needed to prepare… so she would stay strong.
Thankful yet again for him to relieve her of the sweat that had been forming in beads and drops on her forehead, she gave a slow nod. “I… I know. Now, listen carefully. For now… break most of the shaft off so that only a little remains sticking out from the wound, enough to grasp it with three fingers.” Yassia winced even in advance, knowing how painful even that would be. “Then take one half of the moss you have and put it around the shaft on the wound. But before you do that…”
Yassia stopped, having to force herself onward on this path she had chosen to take. She was more than ready to chicken out now, but she knew the consequences of if she did. Locking the man’s gaze, she tried to give her voice a determined tone. “Take the knife you find on my belt and push the blade into the fire. Let it rest there until it glows white hot and then bring it back to me.”
