Raistlin commences. It does hurt, a fair bit, but it's a very regular kind of pain that Guts can endure without blinking. Raistlin is thorough and merciless, and when he's done he binds the wounds as tightly as he dares in the strips of cloth.

"As soon as I can, I will need to make a poultice, but this will do for now. I can gather necessary herbs as we travel." He'd already found some wild garlic bulbs, down by the creek. Water may mean marshes, which would mean mallow; there were wildflowers here he recognized, with petals and leaves he could boil into at solution. "Avoid straining the arm, if you can."