The light from fires and torches was poor, but Doc was sure of his tools, and himself. He gave Theuli a local anaesthetic and had Pran cut off her blouse. The Elves watched in wonder as he quickly removed the arrow and sterilized the wound. When he began suturing it, one muttered, ‘I had not thought skin could be sown like a garment.’
‘It’s not the best job,’ Doc said with unjust self-reproach. ‘I need a proper hospital. We can only hope for her lung to heal properly.’
Moving to Deborah, he had her pant leg cut away and began working to remove the arrow protruding from her thigh. He was distracted from his work by the soldier who had spoken before. ‘The girl will die whether you remove the arrow or no.’
‘Not if I can help it!’ he snapped. Ralph and Malina looked on, Ralph trying to comfort Malina who wept inconsolably, certain that Deborah was going to die.
When he had the arrow in hand, some innate instinct caused him to smell its head. It had an evil odour, but none that he could place. It seemed to glow with a faint, sickly green light. Removing his glasses, he stared hard at it. On the head and shaft of the arrow was a cloying substance that seemed almost alive. There was something odd about this that he couldn’t quite place. He concentrated harder, staring at the sickly green ooze. It seemed the more he concentrated, the more he saw . . .