There was only one table in the tent where Orley waited. She stood silently, hands folded, while Kranz helped the orderly strip the wounded swordsman of his plate mail. Under where the metal had been pierced: a great gash of a wound.
Orley stepped forward, placed her palm on the injury, spoke the words as she had a thousand times before. The gaping wound began to close as sweat dripped from her quivering brow.
Kranz reached out to steady her. "I don't know how you do this, My Lady."
She smiled weakly, wanly. "It's all I ever wanted to do."
