Witchy Woman

Someone in Adiantum threatened to conscript me into the Chirugeon’s Guild. I can’t imagine why. I mean, my campmates and I at War only took care of a guy who had hypothermia from falling in the creek. (By the way, it’s general common sense: get him out of his wet clothes, towel him off, put him in dry clothes, wrap him in a wool cloak by the fire, and get hot fluids into him).
Then there’s the fact that I’m allergic to aloe vera, but still rubbed it into a friend’s horribly sunburned back with my bare hands. I washed them right away, so it was fine.
At fighter’s practice, I was hand-sewing a snow-white, pure linen coif when a fighter got a gash on his hand. Since no one there had a first aid kit, I rinsed out the wound with a water bottle and tied the coif around his hand. I figured that I could just bleach away the germs and then dye it to take care of the stain.
The chirugeon came with her kit later, but was in the middle of a corset fitting. He was reluctant to get properly bandaged up, but I told him to get his ass over. He still complained as I cleaned it until I told him to shut up and just stand there and look pretty. Keep in mind that I am short and was wearing a flowered sundress and flip-flops, while he was in full gear. That’s what prompted her to suggest that I join the guild. Evidently ordering around injured heavy fighters is a prerequisite.