Bahzell woke muzzily in what he was reasonably certain was an infirmary.
<I told you to wait until morning, brother. Or, knowing your lack of patience, perhaps even until dinner.>, Walsharno's mental "voice" rolled into his thoughts.
<Aye, brother. But I was promising.>
<And the world knows that you couldn't have possibly waited to finish until after you recovered from healing twenty people?>
<I was recovered enough!>
As Bahzell and Walsharno continued their telepathic argument, one of the medics that he vaguely recognized from the aftermath of the attack on the base walked up, clipboard in hand as Bahzell got out of bed.
"Sir, please don't get up yet! We haven't figured out why you collapsed yet, and you could cause a relapse!"
Bahzell looked down at the man.
"Don't be worrying, lad. It's not the first time this has been happening after I've been overdoing my healing," his lips twitched into a smile, "And as my wind brother has been reminding me, perhaps I should be more careful when I try new things."
<And perhaps, you should have let me come with you, brother. To support you in this, if nothing else.>
"And perhaps some of us should be remembering our limitations. You're knowing as well as I do that Himself warned you would be wasted here. I'm thinking you're lacking the hands needed to use the weapons this war uses." Bahzell's tone turned bored, as if rehashing a very old argument.
The medic blinked. "Uh, sir? Are you talking to yourself?"
"Nay, lad. I'm after talking to my wind brother," he tapped his head, "who should be remembering that others can't be hearing him. And he should also be telling Leeana and his sister that I'm perfectly alright, and that I'm keeping my promise so far."
Bahzell heard a distant snort in the back of his head, and felt Walsharno's mental presence receding. He winced. Walsharno would doubtless find a suitably embarrassing way to get him back. Or Leeana would.
"Well then. Will you be taking my word that I'm perfectly alright, and am promising to get a good night's rest? I'm promising it's simple exhaustion from overdoing some healing, and I'm giving my word, under oath to Tomanak, that if I or my wind brother are thinking I'm even slightly under the weather in the morning, I'll be coming straight back here."
The medic hesitated visibly, a wide array of emotions flashing across his face, before he nodded.
"Very well, since you promised. It's 1900 hours, and according to your chart, you're in Barkhorn's platoon. If you hurry, you should be able to get some dinner in you before service stops."
"Thank you, lad."
----
Bahzell gulped down the (thankfully) appropriately large meal. It was far from the best he'd ever eaten, but before his father had modernized his army's quartermaster corps with the help of dwarvish advisers, he'd eaten much, much worse. For that matter, he'd eaten worse during his days as an "envoy" in Navahk. His meal finished, he made his way to the briefing, then returned to his bunk, falling quickly into the deep, restful sleep he'd promised the medic.
---
The next morning, he got up with the dawn, showered, marveling at the easy availability of hot water, and perhaps spending a minute or two longer than strictly necessary luxuriating in the hot water. Eventually, however, the insistent rumbling of his stomach distracted him from the delightful warmth of the shower, and he toweled off, and made his way to the breakfast table, grabbing a sheet of paper and a pencil as he went. Working through his breakfast, he quickly jotted down a letter to Leeana, detailing his impressions of his new squadmates, with special attention to Tukson, Dezzie/Northstar, and Rachel.
Letter and breakfast finished, he pocketed the letter, and checked for familiar faces before he made his way to the range.
[Remainder of post has been scrapped, pending rewrite]
