"Doctor my ass," the medical tent's curtain doors parted, "-I'm sorry I was a bad leader, it should have been me taking guard, not you," blood flowed from the neck to the ground, her complexion paled, "-damn it…" tears fell from the man's visage, "-I don't want to lose you, or anyone…"
"Could you keep the melodrama to a minimum," returned a monotonous voice. The furrowed brows rose to a sight of disbelief, pages hovered above the patient, a gentle hue outlined the wounds – the one responsible, young in age, moved dexterously with an earthly calmness. One side of the tent held the mortally wounded left to die with the bare minimum, a flask of sleep-inducing drink, laid in a cabinet to the back, "-war's a rough place. Put her on the bed there," an arrow shaped red crystal pointed to his left, "-she'll be fine, the bleeding seems to have stopped."
"How can you, you haven't even taken a look at us."
