When Freya saw her friend sprawled on the floor of the medical camp, she looked heavenward. She bent down, picked her up and threw her across her shoulders like a sack of potatoes. As she walked past the tents listening to loud groans and soft chatter, a petite woman with a lithe gait walked towards her. Raising a brow, she said, “Again?”
Freya shrugged with one shoulder. The other women walked alongside her. “Today had the most number of deaths so far,” she murmured. “No wonder she’s had it rough.”
“She can ask for help, Livvy,” Freya grumbled. “No one is asking her to singlehandedly treat everyone in the army. And what does she get in return? This!”
Olivia hummed, agreeing. “She does have the habit of working until she drops dead. That isn’t something we can change.”
“If the damned princes stopped fighting for five minutes, they would know to send us some more resources,” Freya complained.
Reaching their destination, Freya entered the tent and dumped the woman on her shoulder on the make-shift bed. The woman groaned at the impact and opened her bleary eyes. “Frey?” she croaked.
Freya looked around the pig sty styled as a human’s tent and managed to find water in a corner. She handed it to the woman. Olivia then entered the tent. “You really ought to take care of yourself, you know,” she said quietly. “There are too many people who rely on you.”
The woman blinked a few times, trying to make herself more alert. “I know, I know. There were just… a lot of people today.” That set a somber mood among the women.
“No, you don’t know,” Frey snapped. “You shouldn’t be overworking yourself like this. There are so many other things you need to take care of during the day. And once you start healing in the evening, there is no end to it! Goddammit-“
“What she means is, your highness,” Olivia interrupted, “please do things in moderation so that those pledging their allegiance to you need not constantly worry about you.”
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