"There is a saying in the Neverland that,every time you breathe, a grown-up dies." - J.M. Barrie.

Aedan and I scramble down the tree. Our sharp elf vision allows us to see in the dark without needing a light. We hurry towards the assembling commotion. A group of elves are gathered around the crashed remnants of a once-mighty branch on the ground. A young man lies in the centre of the mutilated tree limb. Agony is carved onto his face and his back is arched at a queer angle.

Faolan kneels down next to the ill-fated youth and asks him something, then receives a muddled reply. My brother reaches for a twig and then lightly touches first the right, and then the left foot of the man whimpering in pain. Another unintelligible reply follows. With the shake off his head and knitted brows, Faolan asks the elf for his name.

For once I can make out the elf's words: "Dealken Branchbuilder of Dor-Ur, also of the family of Freefall."

I barely bite back a snicker at the irony of the poor elf's name. I am sure that his family did not intend to damn him with their choice of names for him.

That makes me wonder whether the names chosen for us have any significance on our destined paths? Aedan and Faolan have the great names of our ancestors: the ones who changed everything for our nation. Aedan has already inherited the sight, and it is obvious to all that Faolan will soon be incorporated into legends. Perhaps my parents had botched my future up by changing the family name of Aelia, mother to the great Faolan and Aedan, and not bestowing it upon me in its original form.

Faolan struggling to hide his own giggle at the unfortunate guy's names pulls me back to the present.

"Dealken of Dor-Ur, it seems that you have sustained some severe injuries that wouldn't make it possible for you to continue with us."

"I'm fine," Dealken announces and barely moves as he attempts to sit up.

Faolan places a gentle hand on his chest: "Do not move, child of the forest. You'll make the injury worse. I am convinced that your back is broken."

"Faolan, blood of kings, our healers should be able to stabilise him until he reaches Telkinom where he should recover from the injury in time for him to return to the Mountains next decade," Elorhim advises with a hand on Faolan's shoulder.

"Please get the healers from both Telkinom and ArBrae."

Elorhim nods and shouts the order to someone else.

Dealken's laboured breathing changes to a harsh gasp tearing through the silence as we wait for our healers to arrive.

I anxiously shift my glance from elf to elf. They are all as skittish as I am, with the same shame of incompetence visible on our faces.

We have all had some medical training during our studies, but most of it has been towards minor ailments and not trauma - as we rarely encounter injuries. Elves are graceful and light on our feet. We don't fall from trees, we don't slip and twist our ankles, and we most definitely don't get mangled by the forest creatures. Our basic training is equal to the extensive training the human healers receive in Inwir City. Healing itself is such a vast craft for elves. Elfish healers train for centuries to perfect their craft and I can only guess as to the mysteries they solve and the miracles they are capable of.

Aedan and I stare in indecision as our knowledge regarding injuries like these consists only of the theoretical.

"He's going to die if we don't do something for him!"

"That's obvious, princess. But what do you propose?"

I rush to Dealken whose breathing has now altogether stopped. Kneeling down, I recall something of our classes. My right middle finger percusses my left that is flat on his chest. First the right chest, and then his left. The difference is indisputable.

"There isn't a door that will open for you -," Elorhim starts to say, but his words are cut off.

"Strongwind, perhaps you should choose another time for insulting my sister, and preferably not in my presence," Faolan says sternly and gives Elorhim a murderous stare. "Preferably not even at all."

I tune Elorhim and Faolan out and try to remember what the problem might be and how to go about fixing it. A movement on my wrist, as light as a feather, distracts me. My bracelet morphs and moves down my hand. It forms a hollow cylinder with one very sharp edge.

With a confident smile, I count the rib spaces on his left. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. My finger follows that space from his sternum to the imaginary line connecting with his axilla. He struggles and squirms as I force the sharp edge of my new instrument into his chest.

Blood immediately gushes out, soaking my dress and the ground I sit on. Dealken gasps and his shoulders pull back. His eyes roll back in his head and then they jerk forward.

"What on the Council are you doing!" a clearly articulated screeching voice demands.

I look up and see the four healers staring at me with disbelief on their faces.

"He had that thing that you get when falling from a height, where your rib breaks on the inside and pierces the lung," I mumble apologetically.

The oldest healer with hair turning white and crow's feet in the corners of her eyes addressees me: "A bloedlug?"

"That's the word," I say with a blush. "He stopped breathing because of it. We learned about it in one of our classes. It's one of the most common battle injuries. They taught it to us, as all of us will do our service in the Mountains at some point in our lives."

"We are well aware of the forest child's curriculum," the other older healer with grizzly hair similar to the first says in her screeching voice.

"Master Healer, I am sure she did not insinuate that you are unfamiliar with the curriculum," Jalira Cloudwatcher, younger sister to Francesse Cloudwatcher, says in a peaceful voice when her joyful eyes meet mine.

"Princess Laelia, blood of Elderlight and Darkwood, you saved this one's life. We can fix the lung and his back, but we would not have been able to do anything should his heart have stopped," the second apprentice-healer intercedes on my behalf with a grin on his face.

He kneels down next to me and extends one of his colossal hands to his master. The longevous Master Healer's bones pop as she stiffly joins us on the blood-soaked ground.

A strand of her grey hair jumps from her braid, but she pushes it back before she takes her apprentice's hand and places it on the injured elf's.

"You will pull that out when I tell you," she instructs me.

"Rialedt Rabbitsrunner, you know what to do?"

"Yes, the moment it is out, I will pull out the air and blood, and you'll heal while I keep sucking out everything," he says with a grin.

"Everyone ready? Now," she commands – her voice barely audible in the night.

I gently pull my bracelet in its alternate form out. As it leaves his chest, it returns to its original shape on my wrist.

Rialedt's face crunches up in concentration. A gush of air from the hole sprays a fine mist of blood on our faces. The master healer pinches the hole closed while a small trickle of blood still exits.

I gasp as the wound start to heal slowly. A small circular scar, similar to a draw pouch, is all that is left to remind us of the fatal wound of barely a quarter of an hour ago.

She indicates to Telkinom's healer: "I am afraid that I've exhausted myself with that. Would you kindly stabilise him so he would be able to go back to your city?"

The other healer nods and takes her position on dry ground on the opposite side.

Rialedt helps me to my feet. He walks a while with me until we arrive at the riverbank.

"That was quick thinking and acting. You gifted him with millennia," he says while kneeling down and cupping water to wash his face.

"I guess so, but anyone could have done the same."

"No, they didn't. You were the one who did it. I know treating wounds like that is part of every child's curriculum, but treating them is more difficult."

"I had help," I say with a shy shrug as I rinse my bracelet. It has now formed a solid circle around my wrist as if anticipating his next question.

"That bracelet is something special. Mind if I take a look?"

"It has decided that I cannot take it off," I say and offer my wrist to him.

My bracelet disappears beneath his broad fingers.

"Remarkable! It seems as if it is made from Amethe glass, but that does not have a will of its own. Amethe glass is also not flexible and is as durable as a mountain. Where did you get it?"

"I received it as a gift a few centuries ago."

He taps the bracelet three times with one of his fingers: "I would suggest you always keep it close. There is more to this bracelet than just a pretty flower saving lives at will."

I roll my eyes: "As you can see, it is also not of the mind to lose me."

He laughs heartily.

"You should consider healing as a path of career," he says as he mumbles a final greeting.

After changing into a clean dress I return and assist with weaving a stretcher for Dealken. When dawn breaks, Faolan, Aedan, Elorhim and a few others help to gently roll and lift Dealken onto it. They cover his face with a finely woven blanket to protect him against the sun. He is carried to the river and they wade into the water.

One of the elves latches onto the floating stretcher as all the others give it a last push. At first, it seems as if the stretcher would make its way with the stream. But against all odds, the oncoming water parts around the stretcher and then propels it from behind.

I can see the elf's dark locks and brows furrow up in concentration as he battles his will against that of the mighty Telkinom.

"Will he not get tired?" Aedan asks with concern.

"Yes, he will most definitely, and he will be exhausted by the time he arrives at Telkinom. The sun will be kinder on his darker skin, so he should not take the heat as severely. But he knows that that is the fastest and safest way for Dealken to reach Telkinom. We cannot spare six men to carry one injured to the city. They would be too slow, and it would lead to them having to put down and pick up him repetitively. Even though his back has been stabilised, it is still fragile and could still snap at any misfortune."

I watch the lone elf fight the river, until Aedan tugs on my sleeve and hands me my horse's reigns.