At first the doctor looked legitimately baffled when Luke so casually brought up the alternative treatments available. While he was intimately aware of the difference between the capital and the villages littering the outskirts of the country, it was becoming quickly apparent his prince was not. The physician had assumed the visual clues and his earlier allusions would have led the heir to the natural conclusion there were limitations caused by the local populace's poverty. What he failed to anticipate was how relatively sheltered Luke had been. That was not to say he had not endured hardship, or had been coddled inside the palace, but rather he had not felt the very real pains of going without provisions that could greatly impact the quality of life. Every member of the living world had challenges regardless of their position in the social strata. Whether or not he could impart understanding of the plight of the poor specifically remained to be seen.

"It is not a lack of training, your highness," the doctor replied briskly with slight offense. "This particular medical facility has a smaller budget than what you may be used to," he tried to diplomatically and tactfully explain. There were only so many polite ways to say that the health of the affluent and city dwellers was valued more highly than the citizens that toiled the field. "I am familiar with Flexegard but, with the number of injuries we treat and what is distributed to us by the capitol, plaster casts are what we can provide. You are welcome to review our orders and shipments yourself; it is a matter of public record."

No bureaucrat bothered themselves with worrying over individual clinics and practices. Requests were submitted to the committee, clerks slashed numbers as they saw fit, sent their analysis upward, and government funds were distributed accordingly. Luke operated on the premise that everyone under him had a similar code of ethics and would not have a bias that impacted their work. The sad reality was that they did; accounting was tweaked to benefit the municipalities that had more political sway, to the detriment of outlying communities that had much less voice. Queen Camilla and her subordinates weren't calling on individuals to spot check the accuracy. This doctor and his patient were just nameless, faceless numbers, easily ignored, easily dismissed.

"One of my nurses was dead on her feet and had to be sent home. The other is with an expectant mother at the moment," the man explained again. "We are the only three staff here," he said as he stood. Cold calculations had determined only three were absolutely 'necessary' upon review. Once when he had first moved to the village he had protested this apparent madness but had been unable to convince anyone to give him payroll for another person. The figurative pencil pusher alleged he had everything required to meet the needs of the local residents. Of course the person that sent the formal refusal had not once set foot anywhere near the town.

"I'll apply the sling," the doctor agreed with Luke's reassurance he could keep Rhiane from ripping it off at the first opportunity. "Please excuse me while I find it among the supplies. You can use my mobile but the storm," he gestured vaguely towards the covered window, "may interrupt connectivity. We do not have the best of reception on days with poor weather." It was a vast understatement but he didn't have the patience to describe the technological pitfalls in the area as well. A more petty streak in him wanted the crown prince who thought so highly of himself, who took his privilege for granted, to experience a small sampling of their frustrations. He dug a device out of his pocket that was several years old and handed it over casually before strolling out of the room to both give privacy and seek the sling in question.