The clinic smelled of boiled water and antiseptic.
"Next," Samaveh said, steady gloved hands already reaching.
Ravina shifted aside to make room, her lighter copper skin touched with a faint rosy warmth where the lamplight found it.
Long black-silver hair, wavier than most Argathes', fell in loose curls down her back, framing a face shaped by sharper cheekbones and a narrower nose softened by full Argathe lips.
Her eyes, red, but gentled to an amber hue, held a quiet, practiced focus as her slender hands moved with a healer's precision.
"Sit," she said, voice calm but firm.
"Slowly."
A lean shirtless man lowered himself, copper skin dulled by travel, red eyes ringed with exhaustion. His gaze caught on Ravina and lingered.
"Hold still," she said gently, her hands firm as his body trembled under them.
"Must've been a difficult journey."
"You mean life-threatening," he murmured, the words dragged out thin with exhaustion.
Samaveh pressed cloth to a wound. "Hold this."
Ravina tied the bandage, fingers precise. "Inhale." She said slowly.
The man took in a deep breath.
"Exhale." He let out a deep breath, his abdomen pulling tight, ribs pressing forward."
"Inhale."
The man obeyed.
"Now hold your breath." Ravina said.
"There you go." Ravina said slowly, "That should do it."
She rounded up, straightening as she stepped back.
The man exhaled in relief.
"You're not from around here. Are you?" The man asked
"What makes you say that?" Ravina replied, gaze fixed on her first aid kit.
"Your skin," the man said.
Ravina locked onto the man's gaze, steady, then returned to the tool box.
A child coughed.
"Salve," Samaveh said, extending her hand toward the nurse. "Careful."
Filtered light slipped through the narrow windows as footsteps moved past outside. Inside the clinic, eyes tracked Ravina as she worked, lingering a moment too long, curiosity edged with unease.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, tending to the sore wounds of a child.
"No," the boy said. "Just feels strange."
"Change always does," Ravina replied.
A laugh cut through the room. Bitter. Low.
"Half-caste," someone muttered.
Ravina didn't stop working.
Her hands stayed steady.
____________________________
"Bandages go there," Ravina said.
A woman snatched them away. "I know."
Samaveh glanced over. "She's helping."
The woman didn't look up. "She's not one of us."
A man near the door scoffed. "Hmm. Mixed blood."
Ravina kept moving.
Water.
Ointment.
Cotton wool.
Pressure.
Bandage.
A boy stared at her hands. "Your hands?"
"Focus," his father snapped.
Ravina removed her gloves as she washed blood from her fingers. The sink basin rattled as someone shoved past.
"Don't touch me," a patient muttered.
"I won't," Ravina said, stepping back.
Outside, wind scraped grit against the walls. Light shifted, thin and pale.
Samaveh leaned close. "You don't have to stay."
"I'm not done yet," Ravina replied.
A cough turned into sobbing. Ravina knelt anyway.
She stitched. She soothed. She listened.
Suspicion followed each kindness.
No gratitude stayed.
Only watching.
A small voice broke through the murmurs. Clear. Curious.
"Which side are you on?"
Ravina looked up.
________________________
Ravina's hands stilled.
The room quieted, listening despite itself.
"I'm on the side that stops the bleeding," she said.
The child frowned. "That's not an answer."
Samaveh exhaled softly. "Easy."
"My mother taught me silence," Ravina continued. "My father taught me patience."
"Which one was Argathe?" a man asked.
"And which one sold us?" another added.
Ravina stood. Light caught her curls. Light drifted between breaths.
"I learned to listen before I learned to speak," she said. "Speaking got people hurt."
A pause.
A woman whispered, "She's choosing words."
"Yes," Ravina said. "Words last longer."
The child tilted his head. "Did they hate you?"
Ravina swallowed once. Steady.
No one spoke.
Outside, boots stopped.
Inside, every breath waited.