Clenched teeth were inadequete prison for the cry of pain. Saw rent through chain, hauberk, and flesh underneath with indifferent alacrity, a quick, efficient, and deep drink into Livu's forearm.
A scream filled the air - filled with pure and unmitigated pain.
To her own embarrassment, it belonged to she, and it took Livu a moment to realize it. She closed eyes, trying to find that quiet, the reserve, but her body would not permit it: no, it writhed in anguish. She had to tense every muscle she could not to flinch.
The surgeon looked up. Annoyance crept into his usually-clinical indifference.
"This will go quicker if you stay still," chided he, before he continued.
The sight of her own flesh rent so made the usually stoic woman lose some resolve. She averted her eyes, tensing and trying to stay still. The sounds of saw on flesh and bone - knowing it was her own - had her stomach do jumps in open revolt. She steeled herself. Girded herself. She did her best.
Her best was not enough though, and she could feel queasiness start to win. Just as it did though, the gauntlet seared solid to flesh was freed, leaving the bloody stump of an arm, and she was granted a gruesome reprieve. Wasting not any time, the surgeon lifted the bloody and bleeding mess to cauterize the wound.
Renewed pain surged through that arm, and with it, she lost the contents of her stomach, so overcome by it she was. The surgeon looked even less impressed than before at the new development, but a little less surprised.
"Still thyself, you just make it worse," he muttered, cleaning the arm with warm cloths of the blood.
Throughout, the quiet eyes of the First Watcher surveyed the mess. His subordinate had been brave, but foolish, and briefly he considered leaving her with the stump that she might carefully consider herself in the future, and not rush to such foolhardiness. Yet, in his eyes, she had done no evil but recklessness, and her intentions were pure.
"Kneel before me," bade the grizzled middle-aged man to Livu, prompting the surgeon, who'd removed her surcoat after her previous .. accident, to shuffle aside. Livu would stagger to do so. Pain made her every movement tremble. It shoved its way through her mind and discipline with abandon. Inhale. Exhale. Be still. So she commanded herself. She had moderate, but not shining success.
The First Watcher was not without sympathy for her pain, but his steely demeanour did not lapse, as the next command simply followed: "Show me the arm and thy other hand." In truth, he would barely wait for her, and as she started to move her, he grasped both arms by the elbows. A soft blue glow embraced the stump and badly-burned hand.
Another scream. She ... did not expect the pain, as the healing conjuration replaced recently discarded flesh. His grip tightened like an iron vice around both elbows.
"Do not move," came the man's command, as he continued. Feeling returned where there was none - a searing, red-hot pain as if in memory of the flames that fused flesh, leather, and metal in the one so recently dismembered.
When it past, the woman just panted - winded from her own torment. Looking down, both hands were mended - but rather than being whole again as one might expect, both were withered and charred. Fully functioning, but as if they had not been healed at all in appearance.
Silence a moment. Then, came gravely:
"Consider this a lesson in foresight, Third Watcher."