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"Hold it above her head, Inky, to move the shoulder blade out of the way."
Callan does what he can to prepare Grace, cutting away her clothing to clear the wound, then dousing the wound, the arrow shaft, and his hands, with Iggy's spirits before taking a swig himself.
Then he grips the arrow shaft just a hand's breadth outside the wound, so it won't buckle when he pushes it. He says, quietly: "I know you're not listening, but she's just a child. Give her a break." It's as close to prayer as he comes, these days. Then he pushes the arrow through, breaking the shaft off just above the skin once the point comes through, and grabs the head to pull the broken shaft through.
"Wolf, go."

Off to the side, Hedra sits cross-legged, her hands crossed over the holy symbol emblazoned on her surcot, eyes closed most of the time. Rocking back and forth, she chants softly.

Ohea, hilfm medle, ohea, giphoil un sega, ohea hilfuns recktzomdoa!

This refrain, with a rising and falling melody, is repeated over and over, interrupted with verses of another rhythm, in a deep, low voice, until the group have finished doing what they can for Grace.

Despite his own doubt, Callan feels a slight tingling sensation in his hands as he grips the arrow shaft. He shoves the missile through and Grace's body convulses involuntarily in pain. Without someone holding her down, this would have made things far more difficult.

The arrow passes cleanly through and once the object is removed, a burbling well of blood begins to fill the space. Wolf kneels before the girl and holds one hand above her chest, centered above the wound. He mutters some words, triggering some mnemonic devices in his own brain which in turn focuses his magic. A thin wisp of smoke snakes from the wound right before bursting into an intense blue flare that illuminates those surrounding the girl for a brief moment.

Grace's back arches in agony, though she fails to regain consciousness. Callan rolls her to her side and the process is repeated for the exit wound on her back. She is quickly lain back down and rolled quickly in a dirty blanket. Slade begs, "She will need more than this to prevent fever. Does anyone else have spare cloth?" As he says this, he removes his own ragged, patchwork cloak.

Carith holds onto the girl tightly, ignoring the flare she pulls her close.

"I have nothing, the best I can give her is body heat." She comments, the tone of her voice totally deadpan. Letting go she keeps the girl in her sight and heads over to Hedra.

"You did not know, just.... ask next time." She sits down next to the Dwarf, cross-legged, her hand on her shoulder. "She is alive, that is all that matters."

Hedra all but flinches from Carith's touch, then busies herself getting up. "I should have something suitable in my backpack" she tells Slade. She walks over to where she keeps it and quickly comes back with a linen undershirt. "This was my spare one, it is freshly washed. You can tear or cut it into bandages as you need it."

Hedra then takes a deep breath and walks up to Callan. "Callan, Sir?" she asks him. "I... I am deeply indebted to you. Without your intervention, I would have made a terrible mistake tonight. I realised I know some things about fighting undead, and I have communion with the Protector. But I know far too little about the ways of the world. You seem to know a lot. Would... would you be ready to teach me?" Her grey eyes are looking up at him, pleading. Then she looks around at the bystanders. "All of you?" she adds as an afterthought.

Slade thanks Hedra for her generosity and adds, "I think it will serve her better as a garment. Hers is now in tatters and frankly this is the nicest article of clothing I've seen outside of a Lord's manner. We really don't have many opportunities to weave cloth here on the surface, so much of our stuff is patchwork and handed down when others outgrow the clothing."

At Slade's praise of her undergarment, Hedra blushes a deep crimson red. Luckily, her beard covers most of her face. "My cousin and sister made it for me" she says. "I'm not good at this kind of things."

"You don't owe me anything, and you don't want to learn to be like me," Callan says, his tone gruff and dismissive, but then he pauses. "Look, there are three words you need to remember: 'Trust no one.'
"We're on the ragged edge, here, and people will do whatever is necessary to survive. So before you take anyone at their word, or make a decision based on something someone has told you, you need to ask yourself a question: 'What's in it for them?'
"You do that, and you might be surprised at what you learn."

Callan looks around, then turns to Iggy. "We can't leave her out here. They might come back and take a second shot at her. You want to lock her in your wagon?
"And remember: she's still a prisoner and a villain and a traitor. We just need to keep her around for a bit longer."

At Callan's words, Hedra nods. "I will bear that in mind, thank you." Then she turns away, looking for some food and a quiet spot to sit down. As darkness falls, she will do the evening chant, interrupting her meal if necessary.

"Well, if you don't need me? " Carith says with a 'hump' noise, brushing aside her feelings she rises to her feet. "She is my charge now! Please don't forget, if she screws up, my life too is forefit."

"I will rest near the wagon."

Edit, added 2nd April:

Carith rises to her feet, and looks at the Deer skull for a moment. Almost without thinking she starts to clean the skull until it shines, her hands working frantically she ignores the world around her, the strip of cloth she finds slowly becomes heavy with the deers blood.

Rising once more she drives a Pike deep into the ground, the haft quivering as she does so. Pausing to admire her work she looks at her fingers, stained heavily with blood. Ignoring them she ties the bloody cloth to the Pike before mounting the Deer Skull to the top.

With that, she sits quietly by the wagon, saying nothing.