...
"I don't know if I can keep doing this," Bolion muttered to himself, leaning forward in the cot he'd been assigned. Linen sheets pooled about his waist, some dangling off of the small cloth bed.
Several rows of similar cots lined a large tent, the city's mass healing tent. Only a few others sat in the tent with them, perhaps thirty or forty feet away. Most patients took tent side cots, as to have people smuggle food, drink, and other small delights in under the tent walls, but Bolion was stationed squarely in the middle. He'd been attacked in a public place, after all, and the mages who'd kept him alive didn't want a repeat. They'd placed him in the hardest to reach location in the tent, dead center, next to the giant support beam that held the tent up in the middle. His cot had several small chairs around it, for the mages and visitors alike, but no mages were with him now.
His chest had a large, smooth scar from just beneath his collarbones, down to his solar plexus. It was perhaps an inch wide at its broadest and was just barely concave, dipping towards his sternum. His breathing was still a tad tight, but aside from that... his chest had been sealed up again. Of course, he'd sat in a cot for two weeks while skilled magicians knit his flesh together over freshly fused bone, and checked in quite regularly.
"I'm gonna kill myself," he said, studying his newest cosmetic addition. He'd seen it many times, but it still interested him to no end. It had no nerve endings, so a stripe of his chest was completely numb and presumably would not bleed if cut. A useful trick in future, no doubt.