She freed a hand, which was still raging with desert power, and sighed as she linked hr fingers through his. He could hush, but she had told him thus many times. Arha felt the surge and press of the healing that wanted to punch through and tried to carefully nudge around for the same sort of access point she'd found with Luke.
"Be still," she murmured, it was not the same as telling him to be quiet for the thousandth time, "and help me access your Force." Her fingers tightened in a squeeze. "I have almost all of the pain. It will not distract you, now." It was there, like a ball of white-hot fire in her mind, flaring like a living thing, and she set it aside, holding it back so she could keep her concentration on knitting the gash and open the way for better focus from Obi-Wan.
He has lost much water. This is where I should be, with the blood.
It reminded her of healing a badly wounded Fremen. It had taken near eight hours of work to stabilize him and three more healing sessions to complete the task. Obi-Wan was not that injured, but still, it would take six hours to heal him on her own the way she was going about it. She turned another fragment of attention inward to Obi-Wan. If the Force would let her through, it was the regeneration of the blood structures (hemoglobin, or the Jed-Eye equivalent, and the defining cell structure) that allowed for oxygen transportation along with clotting factors and tissue regeneration she would keep a sharp focus on. It was much like setting up the chemical process of stopping aging, one which no Reverend Mother was supposed to use. It would do well for healing, though.
She did not sweat, though anyone without her training would have. Her lips were white as she pressed them together, her blue-within blue eyes bright with intent and focus as she worked, and her hair swung forward, tangled and tipped with his blood. Her cheek, bottom lip, and chin had caught some as well. Messy. Battle wounds were always so messy.
no subject
"Be still," she murmured, it was not the same as telling him to be quiet for the thousandth time, "and help me access your Force." Her fingers tightened in a squeeze. "I have almost all of the pain. It will not distract you, now." It was there, like a ball of white-hot fire in her mind, flaring like a living thing, and she set it aside, holding it back so she could keep her concentration on knitting the gash and open the way for better focus from Obi-Wan.
He has lost much water. This is where I should be, with the blood.
It reminded her of healing a badly wounded Fremen. It had taken near eight hours of work to stabilize him and three more healing sessions to complete the task. Obi-Wan was not that injured, but still, it would take six hours to heal him on her own the way she was going about it. She turned another fragment of attention inward to Obi-Wan. If the Force would let her through, it was the regeneration of the blood structures (hemoglobin, or the Jed-Eye equivalent, and the defining cell structure) that allowed for oxygen transportation along with clotting factors and tissue regeneration she would keep a sharp focus on. It was much like setting up the chemical process of stopping aging, one which no Reverend Mother was supposed to use. It would do well for healing, though.
She did not sweat, though anyone without her training would have. Her lips were white as she pressed them together, her blue-within blue eyes bright with intent and focus as she worked, and her hair swung forward, tangled and tipped with his blood. Her cheek, bottom lip, and chin had caught some as well. Messy. Battle wounds were always so messy.