As Carter collected snow into his hat, the Scarecrow took a moment to pull at some of the scraps of fabric still left from the sleeves of his coat and shirt- most of them had burned away, but the parts that stuck to his wounded arm were stubborn, only causing even more pain when removed. He'd gotten most of them off by the time Carter finished, making as much room as possible for the ice pack.
Having already decided that his arm burning hurt far worse than having his head worked on, the Scarecrow took a deep breath as Carter pushed the snow onto his arm, expecting it was probably going to get worse before it got better. He was right: the feeling that followed wasn't one he'd describe as pleasant in any sense of the word, but he made sure not to pull away. After all, Carter assured him he had experience in being set on fire, and all of his limbs looked as good as new. It probably only hurt so badly because he didn't know what it was like, the Scarecrow reasoned. With this experience, he'd be ready for it, should he ever be set ablaze again.
"I- I think I'm feeling better already," the Scarecrow said with a shaky smile after a minute or two, as though saying it might make it true. It didn't always work, but it couldn't make things worse at this point. Now that he thought about it, it did seem to be dulling the pain- the problem was going to be keeping the hat on his arm. He certainly couldn't hold it if they were going to climb the wall.
His stance wavered as his legs suddenly felt less stable than they had. His boots- still hanging from his shoulders by the tied-together laces, and completely forgotten in the chaos from the Entry Room- thumped against his chest, giving him an idea. "Here, help me get the strings out of these," the Scarecrow said, handing one of the shoes to Carter. "We can tie this on, then we can keep moving without thinking about it too much. I'm probably going to need this hand to get over the wall. We can use my hat too, if need be, since one didn't seem to cover it all."
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Having already decided that his arm burning hurt far worse than having his head worked on, the Scarecrow took a deep breath as Carter pushed the snow onto his arm, expecting it was probably going to get worse before it got better. He was right: the feeling that followed wasn't one he'd describe as pleasant in any sense of the word, but he made sure not to pull away. After all, Carter assured him he had experience in being set on fire, and all of his limbs looked as good as new. It probably only hurt so badly because he didn't know what it was like, the Scarecrow reasoned. With this experience, he'd be ready for it, should he ever be set ablaze again.
"I- I think I'm feeling better already," the Scarecrow said with a shaky smile after a minute or two, as though saying it might make it true. It didn't always work, but it couldn't make things worse at this point. Now that he thought about it, it did seem to be dulling the pain- the problem was going to be keeping the hat on his arm. He certainly couldn't hold it if they were going to climb the wall.
His stance wavered as his legs suddenly felt less stable than they had. His boots- still hanging from his shoulders by the tied-together laces, and completely forgotten in the chaos from the Entry Room- thumped against his chest, giving him an idea. "Here, help me get the strings out of these," the Scarecrow said, handing one of the shoes to Carter. "We can tie this on, then we can keep moving without thinking about it too much. I'm probably going to need this hand to get over the wall. We can use my hat too, if need be, since one didn't seem to cover it all."