The healing tents had transformed into a bustling field hospital under relentless, crushing pressure. Wounded wolves and a few brave human servants streamed in almost continuously as Magnus's main force hammered the central ford with savage determination. Groans of pain and the sharp metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of crushed healing herbs and the acrid smoke drifting from distant signal fires. The canvas walls seemed to vibrate with the distant thunder of battle.
Marina worked without pause, her hands steady and practiced despite the overwhelming chaos. She stitched deep gashes with careful precision, set broken bones with firm but gentle pressure, and applied herbal poultices to slow bleeding and fight the first signs of infection. Years of experience as a palace medicine woman served her well now; her movements were efficient, her voice calm as she gave quiet instructions to those assisting her.
