100 Words a Day 420

He didn’t see any other choice; his forearm was hanging by a thread of flesh. Grimacing, he tightened a tourniquet around his arm. Finding a stick, he pulled his satchel over, extracting a saw, a needle, and some thread. After locating a suitable corpse, it was an orc, he grabbed the saw and severed the corpse’s forearm, then lined it up with the bloody stump where his own had been. He stuffed a dirty swatch of cloth into his mouth and began to sew the cooling, green flesh to his own warm, pale skin. Eventually his grisly task was complete.