The sting of antiseptic rose to meet him the moment he pushed the tent flap aside, followed by the heavie scent of erbal infuses simmering somewhere in the back.
It was hardly unfamiliar; after every engagement, even though they were victorious, Alpheo made it a point to visit the medical tents, drifting between the rows of wounded and dying , hearing their last words, giving out encouragement and congratulations for their service, promising them they would well taken care of.
All that yada yada.
No one usually bothered asking him why he always went there. They all believed they knew already,still, If someone pressed him, he would say it was duty, an obligation to understand the true cost of his wars, or an attempt to honor the soldiers whose strength bled out in the name of their state. Perhaps both at once, if he needed to sound especially noble.
But they were lies, every one of them.
