the

the while. "If I could just convince you heroes that cleaning these things out does as much good—no, more good—than a healing spell. It's cheap. It's easy. They don't fester and give you fever if they're clean—"
"Ouch!" said Paks, as the cleaning solution stung in a slice across her hand.
"Hold still. I have to see if that got into the joint—no—lucky. Maybe we need thicker gloves."
"I didn't have mine on," muttered Paks. The surgeon snorted and went on.
"Are you sure you aren't hiding something else?" he asked when he had finished wrapping bandages around her hand.
"Nothing else." She looked down and found that Jenits had followed the whole proceeding with interest. So had others in the room.
"Are you staying with him?" asked the surgeon.
"Do you need me to? I can."
"Yes. Please. We've got Clart and Halveric wounded coming in, and there'll be more later. You can give him enough numbwine to make him sleep. Three or four swallows more should do it. Same for the others—call if anything goes wrong." The surgeon passed on to the next room, and Paks lifted Jenits's head so he could drink more easily. In a few minutes, he was snoring. She glanced around at the others; they all seemed to be dozing. Paks propped the flask nearby and took off her pack to get her cloak. She wrapped it around her shoulders. From the other end of the tent came a sudden flurry that subsided after a few minutes.
When she opened her eyes next, she was stiff as a board and the surgeon was laughing at her in the lamplight. "Some watcher," he said. "If you were going to sleep, you should c