Kriss knew the man was right. Removing the yoke would be very difficult without proper tools. The wood might be sawed but it was so dense and hardened with tar that it would take hours to an experimented person to cut through it with a sharpened saw. And maybe the saw would have to be changed in the process. And then, the sawing would have to be repeated on both side of each bolt. Still, she had hoped that the man could rid her from that infernal weight she had to carry.<br/><br/><strong>"I understand,"</strong>she said.<strong>"Thanks anyway for helping me with my wounds. You may be sure my friends and me will reward you for that."</strong><br/><br/>She looked with interest as the man prepared the tools he would use to heal her wounds. He was obviously working with assurance and this reassured her. Somehow this man had been a medical assistant. She was lucky to have met him.<br/><br/>When he presented her with the bottle of whiskey, she was first reluctant about the idea of getting drunk, but she also knew what was awaiting her. She was helpless anyway, and alcohol would make the disinfection of her wounds less painful. So, as he tilted the bottle against her lips, she allowed the liquid to flow down her mouth. The alcohol burned her throat and she coughed but still had to swallow it. She was not used to drink such strong beverage and she felt the whiskey stream down her oesophagus and warm her empty stomach. The bottle had seemed almost empty but still it was quite a good quantity. Several glasses at the least. In her hungry state, the effect did not take long to happen and soon the room was whirling madly around her and her wounds did not feel as painful as before. She felt much more confident too, although her mind had some difficulty to focus on any subject.<br/><br/>However light-minded as she felt, when the man first touched the burned sole of her heel with pure alcohol, the pain shot through her foot as if he had been touching it with a red-hot nail. She screamed high and tried to pull her leg back. He had been prepared to that reaction and he hold her tight. She tried to straighten herself as well but the yoke forced her to rest against the back of the chair. Somehow, the whiskey had weakened her, or maybe it prevented her from coordinating her muscles to lift the weight properly.<br/><br/>Screaming and trembling, she contorted her helpless body as he healed her foot. Her blurred eyes did not allow her to focus on the man's face. Still she was grimacing and her muscles were bulging hard as she tried to escape the pain. A few times she tried to kick him with her good foot but she was too stoned to aim correctly and she did little arm.<br/><br/>The healing of her belly was not as painful but it took longer, which compensated. In the middle of the haze of pain, Kriss wondered whether this was different from the torture she had been subjected to at the Cathedral. The pain was almost as unbearable, and it was longer, slower. There even seemed to be the same sadistic grin on healer's face, although in her current state she was probably just unable to distinguish it from concentration.<br/><br/>At last however, the healing of her belly too was completed and she tried to focus her eyes on her wound, neatly bandaged. Now that the alcohol was no longer burning her raw flesh, she could feel an improvement. She knew that the pain would slowly subside as the wounds would regenerate. Still, the word MURDRER would remain for ever, engraved on the skin of her belly.<br/><br/>Walking to the bed was difficult. The room was still spinning around her and the ground seemed to be shaky and unstable as that of a raft. Without Billing's help she would never have done it. The whiskey was fumbling her brains even more now and she found it difficult to speak clearly now. Still, she managed to thank him as he let her lie down on the bed, face first, or at least she believed she had thanked him.<br/><br/>She felt him sit on the small of her back and again the pure alcohol gnawed at her raw flesh. The pain was much less though. Her back was less sensitive and the whiskey had a tighter grip on her sensation. When at last the medic was done, Kriss turned her head as far as she could, trying to look at him and thank him. She tried to lift her torso, forgetful of the presence of the yoke.<br/><br/>She felt sleepy, she felt well, she felt warm, she felt secure. As she invited her to sleep, all she was able to do was to nod. There she was, laying on the bed, the yoke resting on the metal frame. Except for the torn tank top and the bra, she was naked, her strong buttocks and athletic legs laying straight on the canvas of the bed. Her feet were dangling down, out of the frame. Her red mane was splayed around her head.<br/><br/>A fuzzy thought of modesty fluttered in Kriss' blurry brains.<strong>"Please... Cover my... ass..."</strong>she managed to whisper before falling into a deep, alcohol-induced sleep.