"Sir, help us..."
A ragged woman, clutching a small child, stumbled into the camp.
The child's arm was crushed to pieces, the wound blackened and oozing foul-smelling pus.
"Mom, it hurts, it hurts so much!" The child's hoarse, shrill cries drew the gaze of onlookers.
"There's no medicine left at the camp over there, please, save my son, he's only six, please sir, save my child..."
The woman knelt before the healer, her forehead banging "bang bang" against the ground, already bloody and bruised, but she seemed entirely unaware.
The healers, busy tending to the wounded, only glanced her way before silently looking away.
Their eyes held some pity, but more so indifference.
They had seen this situation far too many times.
Though the court had distributed loads of medicine and diverted supplies from the city's pharmacy, most were ointments for external injuries.
