Looking around, I searched for anything to stop the flow of blood. On the nearby table was a woven cream tablecloth. I grabbed at the edges of it and ripped it toward myself, not caring that I spilled food and drink on the floor as a result.
I pressed the fabric against her wound, hoping that it would be enough to stem to flow off her lifeblood until I could get her stabilized away from the cusp of death.
The side of her head was already darkening with deep purple bruising, as was her ribcage. That man had hit her hard and when I lifted her eyelid to check to see if she was conscious, it was more than obvious that she wasn't.
After that, I looked at the arm that was hanging by her side. It was turned at an awkward, unnatural angle and I knew immediately that it was dislocated. I quickly decided that I would deal with that now so moving her later wouldn't worsen the injury.
