Almost an hour after his spectacular crash, Tinker and Ava finally made it back to the training grounds with the remainder of their team. The pain in Tinker’s ribs had steadily gotten worse and his arm had grown numb from wrist to shoulder. Also, Tinker’s back had taken a severe beating from the tree and was now pretty bruised. Ava’s triage had stabilized the worst of the injuries, but it had been decided that further work was necessary to get him back to top condition. Therefore, the aspiring battalion would make the medical tent their first stop when they returned to camp.

The tent in question was large, vaguely rectangular, and made of a thick white canvas. Placed midway down the main thoroughfare of camp, this medical center tended to all of the injuries received by trainees or instructors during training. The tent was currently occupied by only about ten other injured trainees and roughly the same number of medical personnel to tend to them. Upon entering the tent, Tinker was immediately accosted by a number of nurses who all began to pepper him with all sorts of questions as to the nature of his injuries. He began to answer, but Ava cut him off, answering in his place. The head nurse nodded several times and ushered poor Druiker to a bed. She then cleaned his wounds and wrapped his ribs, chittering away the whole time about how much of an idiot he’d been for trying ‘such a crazy little stunt’. “Yeah, well when I fix the turning hook, it’s gonna change everything ‘bout how we use those omni-detectional equirenment,” He responded somewhat groggily. “Hey, wadja do to m’ head?” 

“Quit yer fussin’ laddie. It’s just the salve we put on the cuts. It’ll make yuh bit groggy, best you sleep fur a bit.” And sleep he did. Just as the woman finished the last of the cuts along Tinker’s arm, his eyes slipped shut and darkness embraced him.

Some time later, Tinker awoke, still groggy and with a raging thirst. He tried to sit up, but let out a slow groan of pain, and collapsed back down to the bed. A nurse calmly strode over and handed him a small wooden cup of water. Tinker nodded his thanks and took in his surroundings as he drank. Several of the other patients in the tent had been moved out and there was now a young woman walking about in the tent wearing full training gear. The woman was currently leaning in and talking quietly to a fighter who had somehow lost his arm up to nearly the elbow. She saw his glance and strode towards him confidently. “Good e’en, Druiker. And how ye be?” it was only then that Tinker recognized her as Sanja Petrov, the thirteenth ranked warrior in Tinker’s class. 

“I’ve been better, Sanja, how are you? And who’s that man off over there who you were talking to?” 

Sanja laughed and clapped Tinker on the shoulder. “I’m fine. That man is the last surviving fighter of a flight of scouts recently beset by Titans nearby. I was just discussing what a great Evil these Titans are. They’ll bring about the end of the world, you know!” Tinker shook his head at her overreaction and thought [i]well, I guess everyone’s entitled to an opinion[/i]. By then, Sanja was talking again: “by the way, my own team recently disbanded. I was wondering if perhaps yours has another opening? I’ve tried several other teams, but they all seem pretty happy with their current composition.” Tinker promised to speak to Ava on her behalf and Sanja, in turn, promised to assist him in returning to his bunk. Several minutes later, when the pair were just barely in sight of Tinker’s tent, a messenger on horseback came thundering past. When asked what the hurry was, the man responded with the news that the scout- the man with whom Sanja was just speaking- had just killed himself.