The thought of the deed alone started him breathing heavily. He had thrown his ax aside back in camp, but he still had his hunting knife. Pity the blade couldn't first be heated. The loss of blood would be the most life threatening part. And he had to live, at least long enough so God sees what faith he has.
Putting his free hand into the folds of his overcoat, he produced the knife. His hand was shaking, he couldn't tell whether from the heat in his blood or anticipation. It wasn't very fortunate. He needed a steady hand for what came next.
With the blade reversed in his hand, he positioned the knife just above his crippled arm. Very swiftly he struck down opening a hole in his garments until the skin of his arm was exposed. Before he went any further, he needed a tourniquet. His head-wrapping would serve just fine.
He took one end of his head-wrapping in his teeth and threaded the other end round his arm, tying it tight as he could. With that done, he extended his fingers off the hilt of the knife and prodded his shattered arm feeling for the extent of the break. If he happened to strike bone, he was done for.
All the preparations were at last made. He twisted his wrist, positioning the blade just above where he supposed it would be least resisted. He’d performed battlefield triage in his past but never on himself, nothing like this. The knife would cut through fat and muscle easy enough. It was the sinew he worried about. As he concentrated on the knife hovering in his steadied hand his vision started to blur.