The creature clenched and coiled, and Basile couldn’t really blame it. Turned away from him, hissing, he appreciated the effort it took to keep mostly still. His fingers were long and slender but it couldn’t be anything less than excruciating. Dark red blood pooled out form the aggravated wound onto his floor. He’d picked up the glass of wine, taking sips in between fishing for the arrow and giving the creature a chance to get control of its ragged breathing. Blood stained the glass as well but didn’t put him off. The alcohol served to keep Basile calm, and in his opinion focused on the task at hand. It was urging him on, to do things more quickly, but he couldn’t just go carving and poking recklessly.<br/><br/>“I’m sorry, but this is a mess. The flesh is swollen and difficult,” Basile said, not without sympathy. He ran a messy hand over unaffected scales, in an effort to either sooth or distract before he continued. Luckily, it didn’t take much longer for the creature to pass out. Basile could then work under less pressure and recall on his resources, uncaring that he was staining pages. After getting the arrowheads out, he ordered honey brought to him. He packed the cleaner wounds with the sticky substance and then some clean linen. The books said to keep the wounds open, draining. The one by his shoulder had fouled and was trickier. He opened it with the knife, allowing puss to be expelled from the body before cleaning it out as best he could with the strong alcohol. He scrubbed at the necrotic flesh until it had sloughed away and the blood came healthy and fresh. He packed it in the same way but that one was the wound he was most worried about. All his best guesses from the books as far as best treatment measures went.<br/><br/>In the end, he was satisfied with his work. His foyer was a mess. He was a mess but that was to be expected. He cleaned his hands then wiped the creature down as well as he could with warm water before calling upon his servants.<br/><br/>“I want to move it before it wakes. Much too cold on the ground level to just leave it.”<br/><br/>Most of his servants were less enthusiastic about this but once Basile got to yelling, the bulkier men complied. Basile even helped, cradling a section carefully as they carried the heavy burden up the stairs. To his bedroom, as ordered. That would be the last place the hunter would ever end up and everything was conveniently within reach. From the large, maintained fireplace to the warmed pool of water in his bathing chambers.<br/><br/>“Pull the rug closer to the fireplace and put him over it,” Basile snapped, and the men piled the coils as well as they could. Their Lord dismissed them with an annoyed flicker of his wrist, much to their relief. He was opening another bottle of wine, removing an outer layer before pouring himself another glass. This one a celebration of his interpreted success.