The morning light was a cold, unsympathetic blade cutting through the entrance of the medical yurt, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air. Andrea sat alone, her fingers curled around a mug of thick, bitter tea that smelled of earth and old bark. It was the only thing that kept the mountain chill from settling into her bones, but even the heat of the liquid couldn't melt the heavy, leaden feeling in her gut.
She hadn't even finished her first cup before the heavy canvas flap was thrown back with a violent, rhythmic snap that made her nearly drop the mug.
