Carlisle's not just on his way -- he's here. Even before reaching the trio, he can tell something is wrong. He doesn't wander the agricultural area much -- he tends to leave patches of deadened grass trailing behind him when he does -- but has this swampy area always been here? And that tree? Were any of these particular trees here before?
He can question his memory later; he can see he has work to do as he comes closer. Though not acquainted with Kieran, he picks out which of the two men he doesn't recognize is him easily enough. The gouged eyes, gruesome as they are, give him only little pause: for a man who tends to buckle beneath the weight of his own fears and nervousness so easily, he's remarkably calm when he has a task to focus on. Someone has to be when lives are on the line.
One life in particular, in this case. Though Carlisle gives Pratt a cursory glance as he runs up -- despite the blood on him, he doesn't seem injured -- he turns his attention to the obvious victim as he kneels beside him.
"Mister... Kieran?" He glances to both Pratt and the other fellow nearby, as though asking for confirmation that he go the name right. And now that he gets a better look at him, he's sure he recognizes the other fellow from somewhere, but forces himself to mull over it when someone isn't bleeding out before them. He picks up the pace, making sure to go through his standard warning. "My name is Carlisle, you've been terribly injured, I will help you, and this is going to burn quite a bit. Try to remain calm."
This is usually the time when he would remove his gloves, but that's not an option currently, not with the fact his fingers haven't any skin left on them -- he'll have to channel through the fabric. His eyes cut back to the other men as he lowers his voice, his tone hardening.
"Brace him. I need to get this done as quickly as possible, and he may interrupt my channel if he flails. It would be a shame for him to end up with half-formed eyes."
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He can question his memory later; he can see he has work to do as he comes closer. Though not acquainted with Kieran, he picks out which of the two men he doesn't recognize is him easily enough. The gouged eyes, gruesome as they are, give him only little pause: for a man who tends to buckle beneath the weight of his own fears and nervousness so easily, he's remarkably calm when he has a task to focus on. Someone has to be when lives are on the line.
One life in particular, in this case. Though Carlisle gives Pratt a cursory glance as he runs up -- despite the blood on him, he doesn't seem injured -- he turns his attention to the obvious victim as he kneels beside him.
"Mister... Kieran?" He glances to both Pratt and the other fellow nearby, as though asking for confirmation that he go the name right. And now that he gets a better look at him, he's sure he recognizes the other fellow from somewhere, but forces himself to mull over it when someone isn't bleeding out before them. He picks up the pace, making sure to go through his standard warning. "My name is Carlisle, you've been terribly injured, I will help you, and this is going to burn quite a bit. Try to remain calm."
This is usually the time when he would remove his gloves, but that's not an option currently, not with the fact his fingers haven't any skin left on them -- he'll have to channel through the fabric. His eyes cut back to the other men as he lowers his voice, his tone hardening.
"Brace him. I need to get this done as quickly as possible, and he may interrupt my channel if he flails. It would be a shame for him to end up with half-formed eyes."