"Next! Come on, keep the line moving, don't be shy!"
Cherion's voice cracked slightly, a sharp, authoritative ring that felt entirely too big for his lungs. He punctuated the command with a brisk clap of his hands, his sleeves rolled past his elbows to reveal forearms dusted with a fine layer of herbal powder and a suspicious splash of something purple. The medical tent was… a lot. Imagine stepping into a sauna that smells like your grandma's flower shop got hit by a welding accident. Iron, lavender, mint gone rogue, and some mysterious hint of "probably dead stuff." It was the kind of smell that made you question all your life choices… and your nose.
