Felix’s first refuge contained a bed where a stretcher needed to turn.
The healer pushed the empty trolley into the corner and waited.
He looked at the wheel against the position he had marked on the plan.
“That bed can move.”
“So can the patient. That’s why we need the corner.”
He erased the imaginary place.
The infirmary had working doors, ordinary wards, ventilation, equipment, and staff whose movement mattered as much as the rectangle in which a person could lie. A new protective formation needed to preserve those things through a brief local disruption. It could not become a grand reason nobody could reach the middle bed.
Tamsin checked the existing return. Jian walked the proposed short route with the service keeper. Felix followed the physical boundary rather than assuming a building became one simple demand because people called it an infirmary.
