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Gosh. I need to read more carefully- I accidentally left 2 mentions of "Sputtering blood" in that section... that's been taken care of now.
Thank you Urban Ranger- I wouldn't have caught that without you... And I added the elaboration that I believe may have been needed to link things.
Thanks again!
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“You must help! Please! Hurry!” She exclaimed, bursting out into the open air, squinting her eyes as the sand flew past abrasively.
“What’s the problem?” Diamandet turned to her, one hand holding the reins, the other tightly gripping on his sword, now kept close after Henriik’s night assault.
“Albior’s collapsed! Something’s wrong with him!” Gilwan wavered forward worriedly, her feet tapping nervously against the wood as she steadied herself on the beams.
Diamandet jumped to his feet, throwing the reigns to his nephew. “Here boy, take them.” He raced forward, pushing past Gilwan, then rushing by a now-erect, but still sitting Callendor.
Inside the wagon, he rushed towards the coughing Albior. Gilwan worriedly followed. Diamandet approached the man and bent beside him, watching him cough and spasm. His eyes drifted down to Albior’s back. It was bloody. Diamandet cursed and jerked his head up. He cursed, seeing Gilwan nervously approach. “Give him room!” He ordered, throwing his arms out to ward away Gilwan. With a short jump back, she retreated, worrying her hands.
Diamandet turned back to Albior and muttered to himself, considering his Albior’s wheezing and his bloody back. He bit his lower lip and cursed. Turning, he gestured with his hand. “Dagger. I need a dagger.” He urged.
Callendor leaned forward and reached into his robes, drawing out a plain-hilted dagger. Getting to his feet, he waddled over to Diamandet and slapped it into his hand. Diamandet’s fingers curled around its hilt. Callendor backed off, cocking his head to a side to watch. Diamandet mumbled something to himself, going over procedure, then he bent forward over Albior, biting his lower lip in thought. His non-dagger-wielding hand shot out, thrusting aside Albior’s robe, while his secondary hand cut through the undertunic.
Ripping through the fabric, Diamandet severed the cloth cords. The blood ran freely. Albior’s wounds had reopened. Diamandet rose and hurried toward his shelves. Rummaging on them, he grabbed his red herbal pouch and threw it to the ground. With another sweep of his hands, he passed over a needle and string. Grabbing the pouch from the ground and rushing toward a now-unconscious Albior, Diamandet muttered an oath to himself about opened wounds and air getting into them, spoiling any good the herbs could do. With a great sigh, Diamandet bent down beside Albior and went to work.
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