The flesh was already reddening, but he watched closely to see if it would darken. If the area began to turn black, it meant the poison was fast-acting and deadly. But if the color remained the same, then it was likely a nerve toxin meant to paralyze temporarily.
He prayed for the latter.
If it were only a numbing poison, time would heal him.
But if it was the deadly kind… without an antidote, they were doomed.
The elderly man worked quickly as the mule cart jolted along the uneven path. He drew his dagger and carefully widened the wound to let the poison bleed out. His hands trembled, not just from the rough shaking of the cart, but from the mounting fear pressing on his chest.
Then, another young warrior was suddenly tossed into the cart by Mary. The old man flinched, his heartbeat quickening as the cart lurched again. The sight of another wounded youth only deepened his unease, but he forced himself to focus, gripping the dagger tighter as he continued his desperate work.
