Kraft silently thanked the version of himself from half a month ago for habitually equipping the clinic with a full set of basic instruments that would almost never be used. If Ether could have been stored long-term, they could even have performed a few simple minor surgeries here.
But even with a complete set of tools, removing the bandages layer by layer would take quite some time.
He sent the bewildered monk back up the mountain to fetch Ether, specifically warning him to avoid jolting it about, then began.
It was clear that the emergency treatment in the wilderness had been rushed—so rushed that every part of the bandaging practically screamed of frantic disorder.
Like hemp rope casually flung around a mast in a storm, the bandages wound diagonally around the limbs and torso in loop after loop, unevenly spaced and inconsistently tight. Some had bitten into the skin, leaving purple-red impressions of varying depths; others lay loosely over the wounds, slipping badly out of place.
The overlapping layers around the joints were the thickest—and the worst. The person treating him had clearly considered the need for bending and movement, but simply could not recall how to do a figure-eight bandage. So they had tried to make up for it by wrapping on more and more layers.
Because of that mistake, the slightest flexing made the bandage loops slide downward, piling into rings of cloth padding. Tight places became tighter, loose places looser; the distal ends had turned pale and cold from inadequate blood supply, while the proximal areas were swollen and red.
At the raised and hollowed areas before and behind the joints, some skin had inevitably been left exposed. The wounds bore signs of being pulled open repeatedly, fresh and old bloodstains crisscrossing into mottled reddish-brown patches.
When