Figures On the Battlefield

“Got one here!”

She mimicked a young female medic’s voice that she had been working alongside as she dug through the battlefield to search for any survivors. Her clothes had become caked with mud and blood as she trekked through, spotting a labored rise and fall of a young man’s chest underneath another body that looked to have perished hours ago. An older man approached to assist her to unbury the survivor, after he let out a “tch” before curling his nose. “Don’t waste the resources, he’s De Jardin.” he muttered before starting to return back to the cart.

His blood seeped through a red tabard, creating a patchwork of darker red around the many petaled daisy of the De Jardin banner. His skin was clammy and pale, his chin which held no sign of a beard, shook. She wasn’t the best with telling human ages but even she could tell he was still a boy.

“They’re just a child.” An elderly woman she had heard in the street back in Meadowmere.

Resources had become tighter and tighter, her magic was short in supply due to the fatigue and conditions. Poisonous fogs drifted in during the night making the air painful to breathe, interrupting sleep and making recovery difficult. Water supplies had been contaminated, and good food was starting to be in short supply.

She drew a small knife from her pack and began to slice the tabard away, revealing the injury below and removing the indication of transgression from the young man’s body. Improvisation would have to do to pack his wounds as she used the cleanest supplies she could muster. Infections had been becoming a serious problem. The young boy shouted out as she patched him temporarily for the transport back to the infirmary.

“Hang on a bit longer. You’ll pull through.” Simon as he quickly patched someone up in battle.

She grabbed his arms to position him to be pulled onto her back, his blood soaking into her feathers as she started to approach the cart, his form slumped over hers. As she neared, she could tell that she was going to be contested. “No room. Leave him or carry him.” Her eyes glanced at the wagon that offered more than ample space for this boy.

“No worries, man.” Hanu.

The cart started to pull away and she walked to follow behind it. Her pace was slower but she knew the way back. A distant “caw” made her halt as her gaze turned to the battlefield once more. Hundreds of her distant brethren picked through the carnage, and for a split second she could swear she saw a cloaked figure, all in black out of the corner of her eye. She’d be back later, to help tend to those that needed help in their passage. Her work wasn’t done with the living.

She had kept 25 from meeting their end, she had lost count of how many she had comforted as they succumbed to their wounds, but many she had helped with injuries or illness to fight another day. 12 Limbs amputated, 5 healers that quit, 15 sleepless nights. The biggest number that she couldn’t keep true track of though was the souls she helped to go to the other side. Royce, De Jardin, Horde, civilians all would receive burial, reassurance, guidance. The smallest gift she could give to others was rest.