Something had turned off in Chiudka's mind. She stopped recognizing faces. She stopped looking for souls in dead eyes. She stopped remembering. She saw wounds that needed wrapping, pain that needed drugging, fears that needed reassuring. These were no longer her friends, her family, her loved ones: they were her patients. There would be time to mourn later.

Vasily was still in the hall with Oskar, whose screaming earlier had been enough to wake the dead. Stanislav. She [i]hoped[/i] it was Stanislav (which was a horrible thing to think) and not Oksana. Worry tickled the back of her mind. Chiudka dipped a cloth into hot water and wrung it out, at the same time stifling her heart. There would be time to mourn later.

Thanks to Viktor's efforts, some semblance of order was beginning to rise out of the chaos. She didn't thank him. He wasn't doing this for her.

The wild fury on Bogdan's face was a refreshing change from the stricken grief around them -- a reflection of the raging denial in her own stomach. She caught a glimpse of his angry eyes, and would have encouraged him with a few more sharp words if he hadn't rushed to Grigory's aid. She watched him while her hands mechanically dressed a wound; Bogdan fumbled with his valiant attempt to save a life, until finally declaring the bleeding had stopped. Chiudka had the violent urge to push him aside and correct his work, but there was no time to argue with him -- and she knew he would argue. Grigory would be all right until his slapdash bandage would need to be changed.

She moved on to the next patient. Her father's tea was ready, and she instructed Tjasa to hand it out liberally to help with pain. The aroma of the strong brew competed with the coppery stench of blood; everyone who was able to sit up was soon holding a steaming cup.

[i]Oskar![/i] Oksana's voice was a balm to the twinge of worry that clattered in the back of Chiudka's mind. She looked up, and the wind and snow brought in the injured Oksana, Petya and Pavel. Oskar sprinted across to her, followed by Vasily, and for a moment Chiudka even smiled, though it was a small sort of relief, a twitch of her mouth at Oskar's newest injury. She tucked her heart away again and finished tying a bandage.

"Tjasa," she called in a kinder, more weary voice than she had used before -- she stood to exchange a bucket of bloody water for fresh water bubbling over the fire -- "could you find clean sheets, clothes, anything you can tear into bandages. Viktor, could you draw more water and set it to boil?"

With the bucket in one hand, a mug of tea in the other and the satchel slung over her shoulder, she made her way to the newest arrivals -- and she gave Pavel, Petya and Vasily each a glance that was both relieved for their preserved lives and hopeful for all the help their strong hands could provide. "Oksana, you'll have to sit down if I'm to sop up your bleeding." She tossed her head toward a nearby bench, then suggested to the gathered men that a table could be put on its side to provide for Oksana's privacy -- at the same time indicating that they should turn their backs if they knew what was good for them. She knelt by Oksana with the steaming cup of tea in her hands. "Show me, we'll get you cleaned up." Once Oksana was ready for it, she would have the tea for herself while Chiudka proceeded to clean and dress the worst of her numerous wounds, with the girl's consent of course.

Adrian's slurred voice was angry over the coughs and murmurs, so unlike himself -- but Chiudka didn't look up from her work, though a roar in the back of her head agreed with his sentiment. [i]Why[/i] was the fuel of the fire in her gut.

"Hang on, Adrian," she called back steadily, to diffuse any more hostility that could agitate his wound. "You and Grigory are next. You're both going to be all right." No, they wouldn't. None of them would be all right. This had happened for a reason. She thought as she tightened bandages. "What were they?" she asked in a quieter voice, directed mostly at Adrian. "They came down from the mountain." From the witch's home. But that was not something she would dare to point out.