Wiping sweat from her brow with her free hand, Aniyoh laid the other upon the soldier's chest. His breaths were shallow and labored. His eyes were glazed, and he seemed to be looking not directly at her but just over her shoulder. This was the fifth soldier she attended.
Aniyoh focused her meager flow of onya on decreasing the soldier's pain as he passed from this life into the next. The gaping wound in his side continued to leak copious amounts of blood into the grass, and she knew no amount of stitching would stem the flow coming from inside.
The man, not much more than a boy really, relaxed somewhat under her touch, his expression easing into a modicum of peace. Aniyoh would never be capable of channeling enough magic to heal wounds or stop bleeding, but her ties to water and fire made it so she could help the dying feel less discomfort during the process.
"I...don't...want...to...die…"
