- The men were hesitant to have anyone around their injured family, but I was considered a Healer. They didn't fight when they saw it was Rose or me approaching them. Humans had a strange knack for healing it was believed. Rose and I knew we were naive about healing, we just cleaned the wounds thoroughly so the real Healers could do their job efficiently.
- The men took our cleaning and the Healer's care. The beaded women from the camp that came in injured fought it a little. Most still had the undercurrent of belief that an honorable death was preferable to needing help with one's healing. Strength was measured by personal ability and accepting help meant defeat. All of us acting as Healers sought to dissuade them of such thoughts.
- "Live to fight another day," I begged them over and over again as I washed the dirt from their wounds. "There is still much fighting to be done. If you survive today, you can fight more tomorrow."