Sirosa

Prologue III

"Mac'hla, I need you to assist me." T'Gren said, and handed her a bowl of strong smelling liquid, "I need you to dab this on their wounds. Do you remember how?"
"Ball it around my finger and dip it in. Rinse between patients." Mac'hla said.
T'Gren smiled slightly, "That's my girl."
Mac'hla slowly wove between patients. The tent was beginning to fill up faster than she could have imagined. Though there were only around 30 patients that afternoon, by the time the sun had set there were nearly 50.
The Maximum capacity of the hospital was 40, so now the floor was lined with the sick and dying.
Young Mac'hla hardened herself, becoming numb to everything.
Two more Vulcans died that night. An elder, who Mac'hla knew for her entire life, and a child. A child she went to school with, and one of the few who ever showed her compassion.
Mac'hla mourned silently, curled up in the corner of the tent and nestled into her mother's side. It was time for rest, and they couldn't return home.
She shook in T'Gren's arms, sobbing silently.
T'Gren had known this would be too much for her. Mac'hla was not only physically developmentally behind, but somewhat emotionally too. Most Vulcans would have learned to control their emotions by that point. But Mac'hla still struggled, often letting her emotions overtake her.
T'Gren silently cursed herself. She knew she should have left Mac'hla at home. She should have stayed with T'Ra. This environment, this whole scene, was not the place for a child, especially such a fragile one.
She stared off at the far wall, trying to drown out everything.
She knew this would affect Mac'hla for the rest of her life. She knew that everytime Mac'hla closed her eyes, she'd see and feel the suffering.
And T'Gren could never forgive herself for this.