Free Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) by Elizabeth N. Love Page B

seeing the open wound, which exposed muscle, tendon, and bone within her now disfigured right forearm, wrist, and hand, she peered down into the red tissue as though seeking out this offending nerve strand.
    Though the pock-marked face showed little expression, one bushy caterpillar eyebrow arched upward. “An unexpected improvement. Some feeling may in fact return to your limb.”
    Squinching her face distastefully, Axandra disagreed, “I'm not certain what good sensation will do in a mangled hand, especially if it's mainly going to be pain.”
    “If the sensation returns to your hand as well, it is possible to use your remaining digits in gross motor tasks. It also means I will rethink the option of amputating your hand,” the Healer pointed out. Just a few weeks ago, he had decided that the lack of improvement warranted removal of the damaged limb in order to prevent a life-threatening infection and chronic pain. Fortunately, this development stalled that opinion.
    “I wanted to forget about that,” Axandra cringed.
    “As long as we are able to prevent infection and the epidermis continues to accept grafting, we can preserve the limb, even in its non-functional state.”
    Smiling ruefully, Axandra said, “I will accept that as a piece of positive news.”
    “Now, before we continue, I would be happy to offer you an herbal pain suppressor,” Gage suggested. He had no wish to continue causing pain, as the discomfort served no purpose in this procedure.
    “I would appreciate it.” Axandra chewed two minty leaves and swallowed, while Gage used two more directly on the site, breaking the succulents and squeezing aromatic sap from the leaves' veins. The recently active nerve went quiet.
    Gage continued removing the used bandages and preformed a weekly examination of the wounds before positioning fresh strips of sterile gauze and protective waterproof wrapping. “You are making good progress, Your Honor. About thirty percent of the original wound has accepted grafting so far. I will schedule another grafting procedure for next Hundsday morning. The fresh batch will be ready by then.”
    “Will you be drawing more cells for further grafting?” the patient asked, expecting this procedure to go the same as the previous three. The routine became commonplace at this stage, while the grafting still proved productive.
    Packing his satchel carefully with the bundled and sealed soiled tools, Gage confirmed, “Yes. You are very lucky. Once upon a time, grafting meant cutting out larger sections of skin from another part of the body in order to create grafts. We only need a bare scraping of cells to start the growth process.” As a final task, he produced a premeasured vial and needle from his kit bag and proceeded to quickly stab the antibiotic prophylaxis into her upper arm, barely giving her time to tense up. She winced briefly at the sting.
    “Oh, I feel incredibly…lucky.” Her words dripped with sarcasm, just as she intended. In recent weeks, many people commented on how
lucky
she was to survive the brutal incident, and to be able to continue her service as Protectress. None of them understood the physical pain she endured minute-by-minute. Nor did they see the nightmares that begged her to remain awake in order to avoid the rampaging lights and her own ghastly screaming.
    She thought, at this moment, that the next person to say the word
lucky
was going to receive a stinging slap across the mouth. Imagining such an activity offered her a certain grain of peace, to which she smirked outwardly.
    Wishing Healer Gage a good day, the Protectress watched him depart her Residence, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
    In the throes of spring, the natural surroundings of the prairie and river teemed with mating birds vying for arboreal territory, ravenous grazers filling their three stomachs with nutritious aquamarine grass, and the buds of trees and shrubs soaking up sun and rain with equal satisfaction. In just days, the