Seris:
She hadn't stopped.
Not when the others were collapsing from grief.
Not when ash clung to our armor, to our skin, to our souls after we had finished gathering the dead—kin and creature alike, laid side by side in rows upon the scorched earth where they all now lay quietly, mouths open in stories they hadn’t finished telling.
Not when the healers’ hands went still. Not when the light waned, not even when the weight of the dead thickened the air until it clung to each of us like iron in our boots.
Ariane moved from soldier to soldier, kneeling beside torn limbs. She whispered soft words I couldn’t hear but felt anyway—soft words so steady and sure. Her touch was firelight and shadow, pressing bandages to open wounds, stitching flesh and spirit alike.
She gave herself to them—wi
