"Bite down on this."

Peadar passed a wooden spoon to Amsley Thatcher, who slid the smooth stick into his mouth and clamped down onto it with his teeth. Thatcher's huge frame was sprawled out on the rickety bed he shared with his wife. Peadar ran a hand over the blacksmith's bulging right knee that was off kilter with the rest of his leg, swollen and purple with bruises. He winced and whined, the noises coming from his throat betrayed his size and showed exactly how much pain this man was in. According to Amsley himself he was hard at work on a piece when his smithing hammer had slipped from his hand and crashed against his leg. The impact was tremendous and painful. The man who was over a foot taller than Peadar collapsed to the ground and had to drag himself into his house next door to his workshop.

"You have a dislocation of the knee," Peadar said slowly so that Thatcher in all his pain could understand what he was saying. He removed his spectacles and placed them into his coat pocket. "That place where upper leg and lower leg are in confluence is out of line. I am going to pop it back into place very quickly. Now, this will be immensely painful but your pain will begin to recede upon it all being put back into place. Are you ready?"

"Yes," he grunted through the spoon. "For the love all that is holy, just do it!"

"Okay," the doctor said softly, placing both hands on the knee joint. "At the count of three: One... three!"

He jerked the kneecap to the right. A loud pop sounded through the small room, followed by Thatcher's howling. Pulling his spectacles back out, Peadar examined is handiwork and was satisfied that all appeared to be straight. Thatcher moaned and pulled the spoon from his mouth. He sighed and examined his knee while a coughing attacked seized Peadar. He covered his mouth with his jacket sleeve and frowned at the collection of mucus now on his sleeve. 

"It hurts," said Thatcher. "But... not as bad."

"As I said," Peadar said, wiping his sleeve on his pant leg. "Give it a day or two and the swelling will be down. The tendons in that leg will be incredibly tight until you work them out. I suggest staying off of it for at least a day."

"I don't..., I don't know if I can pay you, doctor." Thatcher sat up in the bed and looked nervously at him. "I just..."

"It's fine," he said with an easy smile. "I do not do this for the money, as you might be able to tell from my dress. Tell you what, the next time someone dies I will need help burying them."

"Say no more, doctor. Me and my boys will be happy to help."

"Good," he said. "It's a deal. One more thing? No more smithing while drinking."

After declining the Thatcher's offer to stay for dinner, Peadar packed his bag and said his goodbyes before leaving their small house and heading towards the middle of town.