Sitara POV
The air in the infirmary was thick, stagnant with the metallic tang of blood and the bitter, herbal smoke of burning sage.
Sitara wiped the sweat from her brow with a blood-stained sleeve, old bones aching with a weariness that went deeper than just tiredness.
She had kept virgil over the two laying before her, it had lasted through the dead of night, and the silence was beginning to numb.
Thankfully, the other victims of the Irin attack, the lucky ones had all been stitched, bandaged, and sent to recover in the communal barracks or their houses.
But Luther and Xira… they were different. They had poision running in their veins.
Otherwise, Sitara would have been overwhelmed and might not have been able to give her best to the two before her.
She turned to Luther first and carefully pulled back the linen to reveal the fresh jagged wounds crisscrossing his chest and arms.
