They moved to the long table where a sheet of bark lay pinned there. Seven names were carved into it.
Torren, Veyra, Kaelin, Soren, Lorn, Harrick, and Mirra.
Clayton touched each name once, and then he finally spoke his mind. He didn't dress it up, he kept it plain.
"Lorn," he called.
She met his eyes.
"You are our calm. You are our hands when we break. If I take you, the city's pulse may slip. If I leave you, we live even if we bleed".
"I know," Lorn said. She didn't take offense; no hurt, only truth.
"You stay," Clayton said.
"Good," she replied. "I prefer to save, not to test gods."
A few smiles eased the room.
"Mirra," Clayton said. "You're our second healer. You've become an anchor. We need you here with Lorn. If both healers leave, one bad day ends us."
Mirra inclined her head. "I will hold the clinics. I will keep the children alive."
"Harrick," Clayton went on. "You are a wall. When lines bend, you make them straight. You can teach a street to be a spear."
