Still clenching his face with one hand, Basilisk flung an eyepatch, a scalpel, a lighter, and some iodine onto the snow covered ground. He had been rummaging through the First Aid kits and backpacks of himself and his men, but now he’d found everything he needed.
"Can it be saved?" asked one of the Claw men.
"No, you idiot," hissed Basilisk, still in pain.
Basilisk picked up the scalpel.
"Too small!" he hissed through clenched teeth. He turned to one of the men and said, "Give me your field knife."
"Of course, sir," said the man nervously.
He unsheathed a small machete and handed it to the Claw colonel. Basilisk took his hand away from his face to reveal that his eye had been shot through. He took the knife and jammed it into the socket. He let out an unearthly wail. The Claw men turned a few shades paler. He pulled the knife out and threw it on the snow, staining it red. He'd cleaned out the last remnants of his eyeball from the ruined eye.
Through white flashes of pain, Basilisk said, "The lighter! The lighter!"
The other man handed the Claw colonel the lighter he had picked out. Basilisk lit the device and thrust it into his eye socket. A burst of flame came from his eye socket. The colonel grabbed the iodine and thrust it onto the fire, extinguishing it.
Basilisk stood up and placed the eyepatch over his socket.
"Cleaned, cauterized, disinfected, and covered.”
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