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A story by hundredhanded posted on commaful. watch the rest: https://archiveofourown.o...


"Ow! Oh, by the gods, that hurts." A young man, shirtless, winced as a bone needle worked deftly in and out of his skin, black thread binding the long wound shut.

"Stay still, idiot. Consider it a reminder to stay out of bar fights."

"It was


"There. We're done. Relax. There are bandages around here."

Angela Zeigla rose from her position at the young man's side, cleaning her hands in a small bowl of water to her right and wiping them dry on a nearby cloth.

She strode over to a small wooden cabinet, pulling out a small clay pot and extracting a roll of linen bandages from the wine in which they were immersed.

Her aspect stern, she returned to the young man's side, sitting down on a three-legged stool and affixing them firmly to the newly-sutured wound running upwards over his ribs.

She ignored his slight yelp.

"Keep this on for four days at least. And I don't think I need to tell you to stay out of trouble, Galenos. Come to me again with a wound like this and you'll get no tincture of poppy beforehand.

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