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The first part is the most unpleasant. I stick my right leg out, trying not to look too hard at the violent angle at which it protrudes just above the ankle. Align triangular shards around my upper leg, and wrap more around my foot. My breath shortens, panic at the anticipation of pain. I do it quickly. Roar as I use the imbued metal to pull the leg back into place. Almost pass out. Sobbing, I do the same for the other. As soon as I’m done, I self-imbue my legs; it won’t allow the snapped bones to suddenly bear my weight, but it will strengthen the surrounding tissue. There’s a flash of added pain as I feel muscles forcibly aligning the bones further, and then a relative easing to a dull, angry throb. Minutes pass. The distending lumps of skin in my legs gone, replaced by awful swelling and rapidly blushing bruises. I force back the encroaching shock, and breathe, and breathe again. The Strength of the Few Chapter 72
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