Glocara couldn't understand why Tusha was always eager to treat people who had "overdosed" on their "dinners." When Tusha did this, she occasionally saw a very serious, observant expression on his face. But she didn't want to ask. When at least a third of the patients you treat have a criminal record or are illegal immigrants, what difference does it make where an assistant who has been a great help to you comes from?
"It's just a personal interest," Tusha noticed her doubt and said to her. "By the way, what's for dinner tonight?"
"If you don't bandage up those little punks in half an hour, don't expect anything to eat tonight."
The constant avoidance of the word "dinner" always made Glocara feel uneasy. But she had gotten used to it and couldn't change it. In fact, many of the lower residents of Booty Bay were accustomed to it.
"Mareni," one night, as she sat by Mareni's bed, she spoke to her in her mind, "a strange troll has come to take over your job. He doesn't look like much, but he's pretty meticulous and hasn't caused me any trouble. You don't have to worry."
Soon, she gave a bitter smile at her own thoughts.
Worry? How can I be sure she can still worry about me? I don't even know if her brain is still thinking.
The only thing Glocara could be sure of was the slight rise and fall of the girl's body as she breathed.