Faye's POV
The medical tent reeked of copper and desperation. Blood had soaked into the canvas floor despite my best efforts to keep the space clean. Rain hammered the roof in relentless waves, each drop a reminder that this storm showed no mercy to either side of the battlefield.
My hands trembled as I wiped them on a bloodstained cloth. Seven wounded soldiers. Seven men who should have died tonight, their bodies torn apart by claws and fangs designed to kill. Deep gashes that exposed bone. Poison-tipped arrows buried in vital organs. Throats ripped open so violently that speaking should have been impossible.
Yet here they were, breathing. Walking. Ready to fight again.
I had done that. My healing gift had pulled them back from death's doorstep, knitting flesh and bone together like they were never broken. The familiar warmth that usually flowed through my palms felt different tonight though. Weaker. Like a candle flame guttering in the wind.
