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Old 01-16-2007, 06:13 PM   #322
Messenger of Hope
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Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Athwen worked as quickly as she possibly could under the circumstances. Azhar helped where she could, and even with the girl knowing nothing, she was still able to save Athwen a great deal of time and energy. But it wasn’t enough time nor enough energy. She felt her strength lagging and there were still so many to tend to. It was then that she asked Azhar to go fetch help. She must have help or men would die.

Azhar hurried away in obedience of Athwen’s request. Athwen heaved a sigh and brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. Her fingers left a streak of blood on her forehead over her right eye. She turned to the next patient.

Patient? Athwen grimaced to herself as she set to work on the wounded man. This was like no set of patients she had ever known. Never had there been one after another of cases wherein the patient was half dead. Of course, not all of these men were half dead – there were some cases of broken bones, slashed arms, or knocked heads – but there was a great deal of blood. Even Athwen, with her hardened nerves to such things, had found herself a few times that day shuddering at the sight of some twisted mess of blood, bone, and ligament.

Sometimes she could not save the victim, and she knew it. These were the most difficult to tend to. She hated to leave them in their misery, but what else could she do? To ease their pain would mean spending precious material on a hopeless cause. She didn’t know what to do with them and she longed to ask Dorran what a surgeon on the field of battle would do.

After a time, Athwen began to think that Azhar and the midwife were long in coming. She finished binding a wound and stood up to look out towards the fighting. What happened out there, she wondered? Where were all of her friends? She hoped that they were safe, and at the same time, she hoped that they were killing the slavers.

“Interesting, Athwen,” she told herself, turning with a sigh towards her work. “You, who are here to save lives, hoping that others are destroyed.” It never struck her that she should think it strange that she, being so exhausted and working, should still have time to consider her own thinking.
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