[ He sets his jaw for moment—long enough for it to be obvious he's working through something, not long enough for it to turn into sulky silence. What he's working through is setting aside his pettier disagreements with various details. It's hard. Five years ago he'd have dug in on every word. With anyone else he probably would.

He is still not going to say out loud that he's wrong about anything. ]

The healers, [ he finally says, gesturing with his quiet crystal. ] If we stop everything else, if they agree to that much, they will not turn away from people dying in front of them. Their friends. Just because we don't have any— [ Other than mages. ] Life or death, maybe. No help for their aches and scars. Whatever the healers would agree to. A deliberate exception would look better than broken ranks.