Never had the abbey seem so small to Phile. The wound on Flynn's shoulder had closed up cleanly enough but dozens more poured into the abbey hurt or traumatized. She supposed theses were the lucky. Sounds of the battle, no, massacre, beyond the abbey walls held no reservation in sharing the horrors that were occurring; in her mind's-eye she saw torn children and gutted parents to match the screams.
A shiver went through her body. Phile was sure she was trembling.
"Elisia," Phile reached down to the young red-head's hand and clasped it within her non-bloodied hand. As she helped Flynn through the stone hallways in his dazed stupor, Phile had beckoned Elisia, or whoever she truly was, to follow. The way had been busy, to say the least, the perfect situation for a young girl to get jostled and bruised. Or, Phile wondered briefly, this was just an excuse to take a breather. She chided herself silently for being so selfish.
"I do not require an explanation at this time of who you are or why you are here. Just know that I believe you to be an innocent young woman and that, as Mr. Ichabod or whoever trusted that, I am here for you, and will keep you from harm." She finished her hurried examination of Elisia. Just as she turned to begin healing the most gravely injured, the voice of the young Silverwood farmboy cut through the chaos.
All attention was turned to the prospective escape route. Several of the more able-bodied men jumped in first, lanterns in hand to scout out the tunnel. A shaky ladder decent later, with Elisia by her side, she too stood in the damp earthen tunnel. There was no time to contemplate the stability of the natural structure nor why such structure existed or, more importantly, why it was unknown to Phile until this very moment. Such was politics, and politics had little to do with the struggles of lowering a man crippled by the edge of a blade.
He will not survive to see tomorrow.
Phile shouted more instructions to the half-dozen hands that struggled bring the bloodied body down to their new haven, something along the lines of "His head, support his head more!" slapping down the magical equivalent of a band-aid down on the most serious gashes but she couldn't focus. Around the edge of the tunnel entrance stood the villagers of Ley, their figures silhouetted against the morning light. But a handful, some injured, some scatthed, but more injured to come to scramble down this ladder holding their life together with nary a thing but will.
So many were injured and Phile had but a limited amount of time and energy that she could devote per patient. She could not save them all, but she could choose which ones did.
It was if she as Sol himself with the ability to give or take life; godlike. The thought was like a rift into darkness, the most feared monster to have plagued the minds of all healers. But it wasn't disabling. Men, women, and children alike moved down the ladder in a frenzied stream and were ushered along the passage to make way for more. Phile left the entrance slowly, stopping often to treat the wounded all the while keeping Elisia pressed tightly to her side lest the girl disappear.
She dished out healing touches and mana patches like candy, a casted-spell and runic-chant for the needy, and for the most unfortunate, a pain-numbing pinch and silent prayer. The Silverwood family passed after long and it was one of few moments were Phile could, with confidence, reassure the family for continued life. Other families she could only offer condolences.
It wasn't something Phile was used to.