Marcus was lying on one of the beds to the left, his knee wrapped in glowing bandages. His arms were crossed, grumbling about something as a healer scolded him for moving too much.
Beside him was Arnold, sleeping soundly or maybe not, because of Marcus' grumbling.
Eliana sat on another bed, her bow beside her, a healer gently checking the bruises on her arm. She offered Seraphina a small wave and smile.
But Seraphina's eyes moved past them.
And stopped.
Amon lay on a bed near the center.
A healer knelt beside him, her hands pressed over the deep wound on his abdomen. Bright emerald mana flowed from her palms into his body, slowly knitting torn flesh back together.
Amon's shirt was opened. The blood had stopped flowing, but it had stained the sheets underneath. He winced occasionally, teeth clenched, breath shaky.
"Hold still," the healer said, her voice strict but focused. "You're lucky the knife didn't hit anything fatal. But you lost far too much blood."
