Needle Work

Sewing came in his line of work. He was a healer after all and some wounds could not close on their own. They needed assistance from a healer, of course, and their tools.

Of course with magic, large gaping wounds that ooze with fresh red blood could close easily. Stitching skin back together was only reserved when supplies were low and mana even more so.

To know how to sew up wounds was important, but for him, it was a rare occurrence. Why have skin marred by a needle and thread when could simply make them mold together? With a touch of his fingers, skin moved however he pleased, muscles shifted, networks of veins and nerves rework themselves, bones reshape to something new.

A master of his craft, he'd boast, molding creation after abominable creation. Cries and screams were ignored over the end results. How would they move? How would they interact? How would they eat, sleep, breathe, drink, live?

At heart, he was simply a man pursuing creation by reusing those created by gods.

If there were any.

Still...

"Cynfaell"

A hiss, pained and pleading for help.

He looks back at his...companion.

Blood, and lots of it. The dark-robed healer sighs, flexing his fingers to release the strings of thin muscle off from the tips. He hears a loud gurgling groan, mingled with a sigh of temporary relief.

'Soon,' he promised silently. 

Soon. 

"Help," His companion pleads, "and none of your freaky powers. Please."

The healer only rolls his eyes, bloody hands picking up a stained first-aid kit.

He picks out a needle, and then a spool of medical thread. He watches it gleam in the dim light, but only briefly. After all his companion shall not bleed to death.

Not on his watch. 

"This will hurt," he warns for the umpteenth time. 

And his nimble fingers, rusty with use, guided by faint memories, did its work.