The tug at his collar drags Carlisle both in body and mind: with what little focus he has torn from his arm, he kicks off the ground automatically, following his usual instinct to run despite the fact he can't even recall through the pain why he needs to be doing that. It's something about a box and teeth and oh that felt like he was blacking out just a second and Desth this hurts.
He manages to make it to his feet and stumbles to Firo, his legs barely holding him up as he clutches his injured arm and does his best to concentrate for even a second. He's been severely injured before -- his being twice-cursed is proof enough of that -- and while he's healed his own injuries in the past, he's never had to mend anything so serious on himself. It's a challenge he never wanted to undertake, and, should he survive this, hopes to never undertake again.
He lets out a hiss through his teeth, feeling that white-hot burning stemming from his good hand as he pours energy into his wound. He only manages to repair some of his bones -- the fragments shift back into place with an audible crack -- before his focus is lost again to the excruciating pain. He can see why his fellow healers usually get someone else to do their dirty work when its their own lives on the line.
It all happens in the span of a breath or two; he's unresponsive a moment, then he jolts back to awareness, clenching his teeth as ink starts welling at the sides of his mouth. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Passing out would be terrible. "I just- I- I need a second! I can- I can fix this, but- but- I—"
He tenses again, and hopes Firo got the gist of that.
no subject
He manages to make it to his feet and stumbles to Firo, his legs barely holding him up as he clutches his injured arm and does his best to concentrate for even a second. He's been severely injured before -- his being twice-cursed is proof enough of that -- and while he's healed his own injuries in the past, he's never had to mend anything so serious on himself. It's a challenge he never wanted to undertake, and, should he survive this, hopes to never undertake again.
He lets out a hiss through his teeth, feeling that white-hot burning stemming from his good hand as he pours energy into his wound. He only manages to repair some of his bones -- the fragments shift back into place with an audible crack -- before his focus is lost again to the excruciating pain. He can see why his fellow healers usually get someone else to do their dirty work when its their own lives on the line.
It all happens in the span of a breath or two; he's unresponsive a moment, then he jolts back to awareness, clenching his teeth as ink starts welling at the sides of his mouth. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Passing out would be terrible. "I just- I- I need a second! I can- I can fix this, but- but- I—"
He tenses again, and hopes Firo got the gist of that.