Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

13.

content warning: medical stuff, semi-graphic descriptions of war injuries, depictions of war in general, death, death of a child. this is a heavy chapter, if those aren't things you can handle please feel free to wait this one out. 

Clearsight

I fly over the streets in the early hours of the morning, while the sky is still dark. The air is thick with smoke.  I fly low to the ground, and as I look overhead, I can see black wings cutting through the haze.

The NightWings were dropping bombs in Scorpion Den all through the night. I couldn't sleep–partially because of the noise, partially because I knew what a mess it was going to be tomorrow. Now, I can see the fallout–smoking heaps of rubble where houses used to be, fires still burning in the crowded streets. 

I make my way up the steps to the hospital. It used to be a library--a humble, ancient building that looks like it's survived more than a few sandstorms. It seems bigger from the inside, arched ceilings amplifying the noise. Cots are pressed close against each other with narrow aisles for nurses to pass through. Every single one of them is full, and a long line of patients waiting to be seen trails out onto the street.

I've been working at the hospital since Sharp-eyes attacked. Doing something to help the war effort is mandatory, but what that is up to choice. Lots of dragons have enlisted to fight; the hospital is a popular choice as well. Some dragons are in charge of watching over the dragonets or enforcing food and water rations. Some dragons are doing damage control inside the city. The list goes on–thousands of tasks that need to get done to hold this city together by a string.

Darkstalker wanted to fight. He's been at the guard towers for a few days–close enough to the conflict that he accepted the compromise, and far enough away that I can still sleep at night.

"Lightspinner!" Poppy barks. "I need help, now!"

"Morning, Poppy," I say with a sigh "What've you got for me today?"

"This patient just got here, he's got fourth-degree burns and he needs stitches. I need you to clean out the wound and stitch him up. Get him ready and meet me at Bed 89." I glance down the rows and rows of patients--I think 89 is at the end of the fourth row. "Vigil!" she shouts at the next dragon to get in through the door. "14 needs you, she's been waiting for too long. I've got a list of patients for you to see–Lightspinner, I'm sorry, I'll be back in a moment.

I rush down to the basement, where heaps and heaps of supplies are hoarded. It's a stockpile fit to last through the apocalypse. Or, at least that's how it seems. But every day, I watch it deplete ever so slightly, and I can't help but worry. Supply shipments are barely getting through the melee outside–what's it going to be like in a week or two?

I select the right dose of mandrake and ether and race back over to Bed 89. I risk a look down at the patient–unconscious, at least for now. For a moment, I think I'm gonna be sick. How could someone do this to another dragon? He's burned so deep, I can see charred bone, and covered in cuts along his chest and his neck.

The things I've seen in this hospital, I'm never going to forget.

Give it everything, and stop.  Clock in, clock out, go home. All you've gotta do is survive this.

I carefully clean his wounds. No pressure is going to stop this bleeding, but I still have to try. Poppy comes back, and passes me a curved needle loaded with sharp, stiff thread.

I hold onto it with an iron grip, paralyzed for half a second.

"Don't be nervous," she says sharply. "You'll make a fool of yourself."