Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“I will be careful,” she assured him.
“I know,” he said firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
The forest closed around them. The leaves whispered overhead, faintly gold in the morning light, and Elara knew something within her had changed—her gift no longer whispered quietly, it had woken, never to sleep again.
They reached a small village by late afternoon, a scatter of cottages and market stalls gathered along a dusty lane. The air carried the smell of baking bread and wood smoke, and the faint cries of traders bartering over their wares.
Dar’s eyes swept the market. “We’ll rest here awhile. I will see if I can sell the two horses we don’t need. That will bring us needed coins.”
Elara nodded. “I’ll wander the market and keep to myself.”
“Make sure that you do. Speak to no one and keep your hood worn low,” he warned, tucking it further down on her head, his thumb brushing her cheek. He stared at her for a moment, words about to slip off his tongue, then he turned, disappearing with the horses toward a stable.
Elara wondered over his look and that he held onto words not sure if he should speak them. The struggle troubled him and her as well since she worried what it might mean. Did he think differently of her now that he knew she had visions? Could she truly trust him to keep her secret?
She brushed the troubling thoughts aside to remain focused as she strolled through the market. She passed a stall of rough-spun cloth, another of clay jugs, until she came to one where bundles of dried herbs hung from a wooden frame. She stopped without thinking, her fingers brushing a generous length of rosemary tied with twine. The scent sharp, stirring memory and instinct. Her eyes lit when she spotted the bundles of comfrey and foxglove, Maelis would barter for them. She shook her head lightly when a woman haggled with the stall keeper over the price of marigold that was well worth the asking price.
“Ah, you know herbs,” the stall keeper, a gray-haired woman with quick, clever eyes, said after the woman left minus the marigolds.
“I’ve studied them a bit,” Elara said carefully, not wanting to draw attention.
The woman smiled faintly. “More than a bit, I’d say. You admire them like a healer would.”
Elara froze. “Why would you think that?”
“Because only a healer’s eyes would admire the comfrey and foxglove as you did,” the woman replied, tapping one bundle with her knife. “And I saw how you shook your head a bit when the fool woman argued over at the price of marigold—only healers know its worth.” Her brow scrunched. “Or an herb-scribe, their knowledge greater than that of healers.”
Elara started to answer, but a small voice interrupted.
“Mum, my arm hurts.”
A child, her sleeve stained dark with dried blood, stood beside a plump woman.
The woman gave an embarrassed laugh. “She’s clumsy, fell this morning and got a wound beyond my care, though I’ve done what I can, but…” Her words faltered, hope flickering behind them. “There’s no healer left here. The king’s men took the two we had.”
Elara’s heart twisted, and she offered, “I’m an herb-scribe. Let me see if I can help.”
A look of admiration from the two women made her proud of her chosen field. The studies to achieve her knowledge were arduous and ever continuous, though they had come far more easily to her than others.
“Let the kind lady see your arm,” the woman said to her daughter and the young lass held it out to her.
The child’s arm was swollen and warm, the cut angry and red. Elara looked around. “You mentioned the healers being gone. Could I make use of their cottage and their medicinal herbs?”
“Aye,” the woman said, nodding, her eyes wide with relief. “Follow me. It’s down the lane by the stream. Our healers would be only too glad for you to make use of it to help us.”
Elara followed the woman through narrow lanes to the cottage. It was small and tidy, a thin layer of dust having gathered along the stocked shelves. Herbs still hung from the rafters, their scent faint but comforting.
The hearth was cold, and Elara quickly set a fire so she could boil water. She found the herbs she needed, betony to help the infection and lady’s mantle to keep it from getting inflamed. She crushed the leaves in the large mortar and pestle on the table, then mixed them with honey. After washing the lass’s wound clean, she spread the mixture over the wound and bandaged it with a clean cloth.
“She’ll mend fine,” Elara said, smiling at the lass. “Keep the bandage clean and change it come morning and add more salve.” She scooped the remaining mixture into a small crock and handed it to the woman.