Doctor Julian Shephard watched as one of the men who ambushed his groups wagon fought for air. His blood spilled onto the bright green grass under him. Julian's traveling companions were tied up, but they hadn't bothered to do the same to him due to the cross patch he wore indicating he was a doctor.

    The dead mans voice was hoarse and weak, "help me." He looked at his comrades. One man was trying to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. Two others were crouched near and looking intently, but the other four off to the side weren't interested in the soon-to-be dead man.

    Julian wondered why he should help this man. It was likely the bandits would throw them all into the river anyways. He thought for a moment of his oaths: every life is precious, do no harm.

    "He has a severed brachial artery. A tourniquet will need to be carefully applied," Julian said. All seven bandits looked at him. "Let me get my bag and I will do it." He hurried to the cart near the road and retrieved his doctors bag.

    He put the tourniquet around the mans arm, above the laceration. As he was cinching the tourniquet he had to remind himself that this was just another man. Maybe a husband, father, brother, or son. Julian didn't know his story.

    "He will still need a doctor, but this buys you a couple of hours." Julian said.

    One of the four bandits who didn't seem interested in the dying man said, "Alright boys, throw these poor souls into the river and lets move on."

    "Hold on a second, I'm not throwing that doctor into the river," another said and a fight broke out with three on one side, four on another. Swords clashed and knives were slashed wildly. In the end, the group defending the doctor were left alive, the other four dead.

    "Thank you," the injured man managed to whisper. The remaining bandits looked at their swords and their former comrades dead on the ground.

    "So pointless. You have the power over life and death, yet we are but brutes who only kill. For what? All we do is bring death into this world. Pointless." The seven bandits dropped their swords and started burying their former comrades. When they finished and left, the swords remained there in the grassy ditch.