"I've never seen one," still, despite having just suffered one herself, but the explanation for that comes quickly, "I didn't look at my arm after. It felt bad enough, I knew I would be... disturbed."

Ness has a strong stomach, a hardy constitution, but the thought of seeing her own bones mangled, her flesh misshapen, her muscle exposed and red and wriggling—anyone would be distraught, she thinks. It's an extraordinary man who has the fortitude and temperament to be a surgeon.

Beneath the dressing, her residual limb is tender to the touch, and Ness hisses when even Abby's slow attention irritates it—but it's healthy, or at least on its way to. The stitches are clean, the skin knitting itself slowly together around them. Fluid in the wound has left the residual arm somewhat puffy, but not concerningly so. There's no inflammation, no sign of infection. It's as good as an amputated limb could hope to look, under the circumstances.

"I have experienced some very painful things," she says, her eyes transfixed on her limb, "but the fracture was the worst. If not for Stephen's cuff, I might have gone a litte mad with it. I'd never broken a bone before."