Mira's POV
The healing wing no longer felt like a place where people recovered.
It felt like a place where people waited.
Waited for news.
Waited for death.
Waiting for confirmation from someone about whether the pack had a future anymore.
The lanterns lighted weakly all night, throwing up lazy rays of light on beds full of people. The heavy odour of crushed herbs fought against the smell of blood, sweat, and fear.
The fear always triumphed.
I walked from bed to bed, delivering a plate of new poultices, trying to push away the fatigue that weighed down my every limb.
A young fighter by the eastern wall moaned as I wrapped a fresh bandage around his shoulder.
"Just relax," I whispered.
The cut would be healing much faster. Most wounds should have. But nobody slept properly anymor
