Chapter 42
Elara’s POV
The morning air clung heavy with damp mist, muffling the sounds of the camp as soldiers stirred. I had been up before dawn, moving among the wounded, checking their bandages, fetching water, listening to their whispered dreams and fears.
There was a rhythm to tending the injured—it steadied me. In their pain, I found purpose. And in their gratitude, I found resolve. If I was to stand beside these people as something more than a ward or a pawn, then I had to prove it in sweat, blood, and care.
By midmorning, I was crouched in the medical tent, grinding herbs with mortar and pestle. The traveling scholar who had once aided me had taught me the healing properties of willowbark and yarrow, and now I put them to use, hands working until the paste stained my fingers.
