Agalasios snapped into motion before his mind could even fully register the sight before him. The tent was already a storm of noise and movement, but his voice cut through it like a whip.
"Tavros! Prepare a table and a bed —NOW!" he bellowed, his words sharp enough to send the young medic sprinting toward an empty cot, flipping aside bloodied linens and clearing space.
"Lerna, cleanse the instruments! I want them spotless!" His hand shot toward a girl barely older than the wounded boy he had just treated. She nodded and dashed toward the boiling cauldrons, steam rising as she began scrubbing the iron tools with feverish speed.
"Varnes, get me fresh bandages and alcohol!"
Every order was barked like a command on the battlefield, and every person who heard it obeyed.
Then he turned to the two men who had carried Asag in.
"Put him down!"
