With a toss of its head, it turned and thundered away.
The rest of its male companions followed, their retreat shaking the ground as they vanished into the ravine below.
Silence rushed in after them as Idan dropped to his knees beside Lago.
The young man was conscious, gasping, eyes glassy with shock.
His hip lay shattered beneath torn fabric, bone pressing against skin that had already begun to bruise black and purple.
His thigh was bent wrong, and blood slicked from his knee to his ankle, which seemed twisted and was swelling fast.
Lago moaned from the pain, his eyes beseeching Idan.
Sorry, my friend. To help you, I’ll have to knock you out,Idan grunted, speaking subvocally.
He pressed two fingers to Lago’s temple.
The world went mercifully dark for the boy.
Idan placed his palms over the ruined hip and quadriceps. Heat surged through his touch, restrained and focused.
A soft golden glow spread beneath his skin, pulsing once, twice.
Bones shifted with the sound of a wet, sickening crack, followed by another, as the internal structure realigned and fused.
Idan’s mouth twisted with grim satisfaction as the thigh straightened under his hands.
He moved to the fibula and shattered foot, and paused.
He sensed the blood flow to the lower leg was still hindered, and, well aware that hisSsukigrathealing skills were not at the level of a medic, his fingers hovered, and the luminosity from his palms faltered.
He tilted his head in thought as his jaw clenched.
With an exhale, he withdrew.
Tearing a strip of cloth from Lago’s cape, he bound the lower leg and ankle tight.
With a grunt, he slid one arm below the boy’s shoulders and the other under his knees.
Lago weighed little in his arms.
Idan rose and turned toward the long climb back, muscles coiling as he began to run.
His boots struck sand and stone in a steady rhythm, the cliff falling away beneath him while the wind clawed at his hair and cloak.
Night duty was well underway.
Refreshed from a day of rest, Sheba moved through the demountable ward corridors with a quiet efficiency, her footsteps a rhythmic cadence against the synthetic flooring.
Most of the doctors and nurses had long retreated to their quarters, their chatter having long faded from the mess, tent flaps zipped up, and lamps dimmed.
Only the overnight crew - she, Toma, and Rehema - remained, keeping watch over the twenty occupied beds. Their patients consisted of villagers with minor complaints.
Their bodies had already begun the remarkable work of repair, and they’d likely walk out by morning.
She wiped down a metal tray, stacked sterilized instruments, and brushed away the massive moths that drifted in from the gorge despite the mesh screens.
They were persistent, lured by the clinic’s lights. She shooed them without breaking stride.
