“Look, Anton,” Saul broke out. “Anton! He’s fainted, do you see?”
“He’s sleeping,” Anton said. He was examining the wound attentively. The wound was jagged and rather deep. The blow had landed under the ribs and the sword had divided the muscles into layers. Anton gave a sigh of relief. Saul was watching over his shoulder, gasping excitedly.
“Bad?” he asked in a whisper.
“No, it’s nothing,” Anton said. “In an hour everything will be better.” He pushed Saul to the side. “Only sit down please.”
Saul leaned back in a chair and fixed a malicious stare on the motionless informant. Anton unhurriedly unsnapped the sack, took out a jar of colloid, and poured it thickly over the wound. The orange jelly turned pink, and a thin film of tiny pink arrows formed, like froth on milk. Now that’s blood
