Talanne opened her eyes and tiredly pushed her hair back from her face. It was the hardest healing trance she had performed so far, but despite exhaustion, she couldn't stop herself from smiling as she looked at the serene silhouette of a young eldar.
She already took care of the gravest wounds the youth suffered when his jetbike had crashed as he recklessly raced with his friends.
"Two more cycles in a healing coma would be enough," she mused to herself. "Then, we could mend his fractures and start waking him up."
She left the room and spent some time speaking with apprentice healers, giving them pointers about treating their own patients; a dreamer who overdosed stimulants, two merchants whos haggling turned into an impromptu brawl, an embarrassed scholar who claimed that he accidentally sat on a wraithbone sculpture and got it struck in his lower parts… nothing truly life threatening, however she still remembered how challenging was making her own decision at the beginning of the Path.
Talanne was about to leave the Halls of Healing to grab a meal, when she felt a soft chime of the Infinity Circuit that caused her good mood to evaporate.
"It's the fourth time in this longcycle," one of the healers sighed. "Are the seers turning us into Biel-Tan?"
The warhost has returned. And some of its wounded warriors were directed to them.
"Everyone, get ready," the head-healer ordered. "Talanne, you are to lead the apprentice healers to treat lightly wounded. I will supervise the healing of the Khaine-touched already heading to us."
Khaine-touched were the warriors still in the grip of their War Masks, who suffered the gravest wounds, barely stabilized by field-healers. They needed immediate treatment, and posed the greatest challenge to healers, not only due to the skill required, but also psychological approach. Not every healer was ready to touch the mind of a War Masked warrior, to direct their healing trance. Talanne had the necessary expertise, but the head-healer deemed her skill to be better suited to direct newest apprentices as they treated lightly wounded warriors, those who had time to remove their War Masks prior to the treatment.
Before their patients arrived, Talanne's group had some time to observe the arrival and treatment of warriors brought inside on grav-stretchers. Most of them were unconscious, and Talanne's experienced eye immediately identified the wounds they suffered. Localized tissue ruptures, caused by flash boiling of internal moisture to the point of exploding. Some were literal victims of explosions, whose limbs were mangled and kept together by what was left of their wraithbone armors. Familiar injuries, caused by weapons used by xenos who were as often enemies as uneasy allies. Lasgun and boltgun wounds.
While she analyzed the injuries, apprentices behind her focused on other matters.
"Look at this one. He's just a kid. He shouldn't be here," one whispered.
"And another one. Not even an Aspect Warrior, but a Guardian. Why had they decided to fight?"
"Maybe they were brought up on legends of Phoenix Lords, or tales of glories spread by Biel-Tanians..."
"Biel-Tan. Their rune once signified life and rebirth. Something every healer would proudly wear. How they tarnish it. Turned hope into death and suffering…"
"The warriors fight for the sake of our people," Talanne barked. "They protect the Craftworld from the enemies that seek to destroy it."
"Or maybe revel in bloodshed and suffering."
"They sacrifice their peace and harmony for our survival, yours included. Would you rather wait for the enemy to attack the Craftworld itself and pick the weapon yourself to defend it? No? Then give them the respect they deserve!"
Talanne's sudden outburst shut the apprentice down.
She took a few breaths to calm herself. She focused on the faces of those that she healed, those that thanked her for giving them another chance at life. On joy of seeing a wound close, a fever break, a pulse return. On her calling, her purpose.
As much as she believed her own words, she could not deny the uncomfortable truth within the apprentice words. He might have not experienced it yet himself - he'd have to be really thick-skinned to mock the warriors otherwise - but those desires were present in every eldar; Khaine made sure of it.
Despite leaving the Dire Moon Shrine arcs ago, sometimes, there was still an urge that called her to the battlefield, like an itch that demanded a scratch. Despite knowing the futility and horror of that Path. She saw too many of her comrades fall, too many enemies suffer. Bodies torn apart, skulls crushed, hearts ripped. She had to remind herself that it was not what she wanted to be, what she wanted to do. That the Mask of the Dire Avenger was left behind, that she would bring life instead of death. First as a botanist, then as a mother, now as a healer.
By the time more warriors arrived at the halls, she regained calmness and led the apprentices to treat them.
When Talanne recognized Iriath amongst lightly wounded warriors, she-mother whispered a silent praise to Cegorach for keeping her son safe. But even if inwardly she felt both relief at seeing him alive, and fear for his future, outwardly she remained impassive.
Currently, she was a healer, not a mother. Iriath was a warrior, not her son.
Compassion and pity could help when treating a craftworlder who suffered an accident, but would be a detriment when treating a warrior. Even without the Mask, Khaine was still in his shadow, his influence strong. As she has explained to her apprentices earlier, to guide a warrior through the healing trance, one needed to nurture his pride, his ambition, his desire for vengeance.
So that he could fight again. To give him a chance of reaching peace through the violence.
This was a burden of the healer.