Finley continued to help out with the wounded, turning to see Morgan go with his sister, likely to see the kids and get comfy.
There was more work to be done. There was now crying for loved ones, and lost possessions as the final counts started to come in.
Most of the heavily injured were taken care of, but still needed to be checked on.
As Finley moved onto another person in need of care, a call for help rose near by.
Finley got up and rushed over, seeing the wounded man splutter up blood. The other man tending to him was gripping his hand and looking around frantically.
She lifted his shirt a little and found the largest bruise she'd seen, his chest a little deformed.
"No," she said, her nervous getting the better of her for a moment. Without even thinking, she put her hands to the man's injured chest. Ignoring the man's strangled cry of pain, she pored her her energy into healing the man of what must have been a broken bone puncturing something internal.
The redness was taken away slightly, and his chest inflated slightly as the bone moved. But the man was still spluttering blood. She put her lips to his to suck out his blood and spit it out, and repeated until the man could breath. He gasped for breath as his airways cleared, but he seemed close enough to pass out and not at all conscious enough to do more than breath.
With that small crises out of the way, she sat back in a daze, exhausted even more from the events of the day.
As Morgan limped inside, the children got up and hugged him.
"Did you beat them? Were they routed?" Isla asked him hopefully as Conor just looked up at him in concern.