One of the healers moved away from the cot. The other two separated and raided the supplies on the tables. Neither of them spoke to Aleledai at all and he wanted to be angry, indignant with them, but didn’t have the strength for it. They had to fix Selati first. Aleledai could wait for the details.
Sharpness dug in his skin, on his forearm. Aleledai looked at the Caniean hovering at his side, something in the stranger’s hand shining in the dim light filtered through the tent fabric around them. A needle. Aleledai followed the fine thread down, ivory and bright where it pierced his skin. Blood trickled out of a gash in his arm. When did that happen?