Delaena shook her head and smiled. "Not miracles, just magic." She knelt beside the first man and pressed her hands to his chest. She let the energy flow through her hands and into his body, closing the wounds and stopping the blood from escaping. She smiled down at him kindly. "Stay rested," she murmured, and moved on to the next, performing the same way, man after man.<br/><br/>Despite her eagerness to help, the priestess was growing tired. She was halfway done with the men, working her way down the line, and sweat was beading off her forehead. She was glad she'd already done all she could for the more desperate of men, because her magic reserves were draining fast. That was one problem with her own magic- it didn't work very well if she was tired, sick or injured. She certainly couldn't heal herself, which was unfortunate. But, at least to herself, it made sense. She pressed her hands to the leg of a wounded man and forced what she could out. It was like squeezing the juice out of a fruit. Once there was none left, it became a mess of pulp and skin. She sat back, looking at the men. For the most part, the rest seemed only minimally injured. That was good, she could tend to them later.<br/><br/>Delaena stood and staggered back to where her cloak was, sitting herself down on the wool. "I need to rest," she said, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead.