Nahri knelt and pulled it away. He’d been stabbed, very nearly disemboweled. It was a miracle he wasn’t already dead. Purple swelling ballooned the skin, and she could smell torn intestine. Subha couldn’t help him, even with supplies. But Nahri could. She took a deep breath, aware of the step she was about to take and what it would mean. And then she laid her hands upon his body. Heal. The skin immediately twisted beneath her fingertips, the swelling vanishing, the torn muscles and flesh rushing back together. The young man let out a strangled gasp, and she felt his racing heartbeat even out.
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