The chamber thathad been turned into an infirmary provided respite from the cacophony of the training grounds. Ailis moved gracefully among the wounded, her gentle hands healing both body and spirit.
Two men were carried in, faces contorted with pain, their shallow breaths and protective postures indicating broken ribs. With delicate precision, Ailis examined them.
“Ye both need rest,” she advised. “A few days at least.”
Lachlan entered with confidence, his gaze stern. “No, Ailis. They chose to fight like children. Again. Men who fight with one another and hurt themselves get to work while in pain. They will be assigned to help build our new wall.”
Tension thickened the air as Ailis faced Lachlan. “Ye cannae expect them to work like this,” she argued. “Even God rested on the seventh day.”
“They will be an example to all the soldiers. They must all realize we are one army, or they will fight one another onthe field of battle, instead of addressing our enemies,” Lachlan countered forcefully. “We may lose men to enemy swords or arrows, but we will lose no men to our own.”
Ailis rebuked him. “Human flesh is not yer sword. To force them is to ignore their need for healing.”
“’Tis discipline that binds us,” Lachlan replied, his steadfast gaze betraying a hint of uncertainty.
Their silent standoff reflected opposing perceptions of duty and sacrifice—Ailis seeking to protect from further harm, Lachlan focused on maintaining harsh lessons.
“Mercy has its place, as does severity,” Ailis finally conceded, tending to her patients again. “Let’s not forget either.”
“I will not forget. But these men may be what the others need to see to forget their petty squabbles.” Lachlan observed her practiced movements, pondering her words while the weight of their argument lingered. The balance of power within the clans was fragile, resting on their shoulders—even when their hearts disagreed.
