Vella knelt beside a wounded knight, her palm glowing with light as she pressed it against his torn side. The flesh knitted together under her touch, the knight's pained groans fading into quiet, steady breathing, but her face did not match the work she was doing.
Her expression was sour, her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes carrying a look of barely concealed annoyance every time she moved to the next soldier.
Hajin had told her to help and she was not happy about it.
A few feet away, Helen had set up a small cooking station near the center of the camp, a pot suspended over a controlled flame while she tossed in dried herbs and strips of meat.
Juna sat beside her, slicing vegetables with practiced precision, her ears twitching occasionally at the sounds of the camp. Loccy was on Helen's other side, stirring the pot with both hands, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.
