On the desolate frozen tundra, Rama used a spell to drag Broga swiftly across the snow.
They had already run a long distance, and around them, no trace of tribal warriors or worms could be seen.
"Stop, stop for a bit!" Broga croaked hoarsely, his severed leg leaving a bloodstain on the snow, "If we don't bandage it soon, I'll bleed to death!"
Rama glanced at Broga's pale face; despite saying, "You sure sound lively, not like someone dying," she still stopped as he requested.
She deftly took out a pack of blood-stopping herbs wrapped in oil paper from her bosom, crushed them, and applied them to Broga's wound.
The purple herbal powder mixed with the bright red blood, quickly coagulating into a dark scab.
Now the tribal coalition had shattered completely.
