{Sirah}
Sirah stared at the stump where her left hand used to be.
The healers had done their best. Clean bandages, herbs to prevent infection, even some expensive salve that was supposed to help with the pain. None of it helped with the real problem.
Her hand was gone. Just... gone.
"—need to adjust our approach," Commander Thrak was saying. Big bastard with more scars than sense. "The humans have pulled back their eastern patrols. Our raids will have to wait."
"Or we could press the advantage," another commander argued. "They're scared. Running."
"They're regrouping," Thrak countered. "Different thing."
Sirah kept staring at her stump. The phantom pain was a bitch—her missing fingers kept trying to clench into a fist that wasn't there.
Someone sat down beside her. Kresh, from the look of his scarred knuckles.
"Rough week, Blood Sister."
She grunted.
"The healers say you're adapting well. Learning to fight with one hand."
Another grunt.
"Look, I know it's hard—"
