The carnage; the pure, unadulterated carnage. It was shocking and nauseating. It was horrible and repulsive and beyond anything she could have ever imagined. Nothing in her extensive training as a healer could have prepared her for this. It was an abomination. It wounded her deeply to see and feel so much death, especially when her efforts to staunch the loss of life seemed to make little difference. She couldn’t think anymore, she just acted. Her slender hands flew over gaping wounds and her voice wove incessant incantations of healing. But no matter what she did, few looked like they would survive the night, and many died under her touch despite her efforts to save them. Several times over the last traumatic day and night she felt gentle yet persistent hands try to pull her away while familiar and unfamiliar voices alike urged her to rest.
However, it didn’t matter anymore that her hands were stained red from the blood of dozens, even hundreds of nameless men, nor did it matter that her voice was beginning to grow hoarse from the endless stream of words coming from her lips. She didn’t feel tired. She didn’t even feel the horror anymore. She didn’t feel anything. She was numb. This is what she had trained to do, and so she continued to fight a battle that was equally as desperate as one fought with arrows and swords. It was all she could do now.
It was all she had left to offer.