Wheezing slightly, Atal pushed himself to his feet with his gnarled walking stick, his eyes drooped as he made his way over to the prostrate man. He paid no attention to the stretcher (Gurneys have wheels) being made instead focused soley on the man.
He grunted as he let the leather beg slip from his shoulder to the ground. Apparently the sack was quite heavy, but judging from the number of items that had been pulled from it,. it would be surprising if the sack weighed more then the wizened old man did. Atal felt the man's forehead, his cheeks, the sides of his neck, and the insides of his wrists, all the while a grimace on his face.
After a moment, he placed his ear against the mans chest, and almost looked like he was sleeping on him, rather than listening to the myriad of strange noises that a body creates. He lifted his ear from the mans chest and returned to his bag. He rustled around inside of the hefty black container, creating a variety of noises from the clink of glassware, to the odd pitched ring of metal, and other less identifiable sounds. He romved several smaller leather scripts that an apothecary would recognize as herb pouches as well as several small vials of a strange pink liquid that changed colors in the faint light of the dying fire.
"EYAH, Atal needs new filling method." he said, finally pulling out a thick roll of what looked like gauze of some sort. He uncorked the small vial of pink liquid, and dipped his finger in it. He drew the liquid across the smaller claw and tooth marks that marred the mans skin. The liquid sizzled and bubbled like spit on a hot grill, but made a strange small similar to vinegar and pears. The man groaned and twitched as Atal poured a liberal amount of the pink liquid into the severe wound in his neck. The smell was much stronger, and the sound louder than before. After a minute of making sure that the fluid filled each part of the wound, Atal took a knife and cut the pantleg away from the mans savaged knee. The wound looked terrible and he emptied the vial tending the last wound.
Atal discared the glass vial back into his bag, and took up the leather scripts. He unrolled the first one and scowled, "EYAH! I no make bean soup!" he said rolling the script back up and promptly sticking it down into the leather bag. The second produced a much similar scowl, but was simply placed back in the bag without a word. The last script made him breathe a sigh of relief as he unrolled it, and began pulling out various paper slips of unlabeled herbs.
He started adding pinches and shakes from the various pouches until he had a tablespoon sized lump of pulverized green and brown in his palm. He added some water from Luna's bucket and made the material into a coarse paste, dabbing a small amount on the deeper cuts and bites, but reserving the lions share for the neck and knee injuries. Deftly he anointed the wounds with the salve, careful not to make the injury worse.
Finally he unwound the gauze like material which had a strange pattern to it, alternating blocks of light and dark, set in a diamond, or mosaic fashion, and it seemed to have a strange, non-fibrous texture to it. He took a small knife, no longer than a finger and cut the material into small strips and used them to bind th wounds. The material drew up, and became like a false layer of skin as he placed it over the wounds. Some were drawn closed as the material contracted and adhered tightly to the mans skin. It didnt match his skintone, it remained pale, with its diamond pattern, and had a glossy look to it.
"No play chew-toy with wolf, wolf win!" Atal said, depositing his script back into the back, and adjusting the other things he removed earlier. "Maybe bean soup later.' he chuckled.
"When he wake, need water and bloodroot he will."