Chaos consumed the settlement as Milka was brought in, his body battered and bruised beyond recognition. Healers and shamans were all over the place, trying their best to save the Advisor's child.
While the healers poured their healing concoctions all over Milka, the shamans chanted prayers, calling on the gods for aid as they tended to his wounds.
Since Milka was in a grave condition, the healers decided to operate on him right in the middle of the busy square. The necessary equipment was brought to him along with a lot of attention, as the tribals surrounded him.
"Move! I SAID MOVE DAMNIT!"
Milka's father, a small old man with tired eyes, pushed through the crowd along with his five wives in toe. Despite his old age and short legs, his steps were rushed as the only thing on his mind was the fear for his son.
"Where's my son!?"
He glanced around frantically until he spotted Milka lying on a makeshift bed, surrounded by healers.