Thunder rumbled overhead as Havyn guided Selene down the muddy lane, the sky above Cinderbrook bruised with storm clouds. The first sheets of rain were already spattering across the village roofs, sending townsfolk scurrying indoors. With every clap of thunder, Selene tensed, and Havyn guessed her nerves were frayed as much by the day's tension as by the storm itself.
They passed a small stable, its doors drawn shut against the weather, then circled around a squat building with boarded-up windows. Dripping laundry lines hung in the narrow gap between houses. The entire settlement felt as though it huddled under the weight of too many fears. Strangers in this place, Havyn and Selene could almost smell the distrust in the air.
A short walk later, they reached the north edge of Cinderbrook, where a low cottage slumped against a trio of birch trees. A single oil lamp glowed behind the window's rain-streaked glass, illuminating a hand-painted sign: Eve's Remedies and Brews. Peeking under the eaves, Havyn spotted bundles of herbs drying from the rafters. The pungent smell of rosemary and pungent bark teased his nose.
Selene shivered, pulling her cloak tighter to conceal her warlock sigils. "Let's hope she's open to helping outsiders," she muttered, leaning on Havyn's arm.
He squeezed her hand gently in return. "Harwick said she might barter. We'll just have to show we mean no harm."
They mounted the single stone step, Havyn rapping on the wooden door. For a tense few moments, there was no response. Rain pelted their shoulders, soaking through their threadbare clothes. Then, at last, the door creaked open a few inches, and a lined, weather-worn face peered out.
The woman looked to be in her late fifties, with wispy gray hair coiled into a tight bun. A pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose, behind which sharp eyes regarded them with caution.
"Yes?" she asked bluntly.
Havyn cleared his throat. "Eve? Harwick said you're the local herbalist. My friend here needs help with a wound that might be… beyond my abilities."
Eve's eyes flicked to Selene, taking in her pallor, the bandages visible where the cloak parted. The older woman exhaled, then unlatched the door. "Get in before you catch your death. I don't fancy scraping strangers off my doorstep."
They stepped inside, grateful for the sudden warmth. The interior smelled of dried herbs and simmering concoctions—a swirl of lavender, mint, and something acrid Havyn couldn't identify. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with jars and woven baskets. In a corner, a small stove radiated heat, and in front of it was a rough wooden table strewn with mortar and pestle, half-crushed plants, and strips of cloth.
Eve locked the door behind them, sliding a wooden bar into place. "These days, I keep a tight watch. Folk go missing if they're not careful." Her brow furrowed as she eyed Selene's bandaged midriff. "Let me see."
Selene stiffened. "It's all right. I've managed—"
But Eve clicked her tongue impatiently. "Don't be shy. I've seen worse. Sit on that stool and let me look. You too," she said to Havyn, flicking her gaze over the bruises visible through the torn fabric of his shirt.
They exchanged a glance, somewhat taken aback by her brisk manner, but Selene complied, easing onto the stool with a wince. Havyn lingered near the door, dripping rainwater onto the floorboards. Eve lit another lamp, setting it closer to Selene so she could examine the bandages.
"Haven't had travelers in a while," she said, unwinding the cloth. "Not many come here except to trade. Most leave quick if they can." Her voice softened as she saw the half-healed gash. "Gods above, child, that's a nasty slice. Whoever stitched it did a fair job, but it's not healing right. Feels feverish."
Selene's lips thinned. "I used some… unorthodox methods to close it. But I'm no healer."
"Unorthodox," Eve repeated, her tone neutral as her fingers probed around the wound. "I've heard that word used for all sorts of strangeness. You best hope your unorthodox methods don't rot your insides." She paused, peering at Selene over the rim of her spectacles. "Though it seems to be holding. No infection that I can see… just not knitting well."
Selene exhaled shakily. "I'll live. It just hurts like the devil."
Eve grunted, rummaging through a nearby basket. She pulled out a clay jar, popping its lid. The pungent smell of camphor and crushed wildflowers drifted up, making Selene's eyes water. "This salve will help with pain and swelling. It's not cheap."
Havyn cleared his throat. "What sort of payment do you need? We don't have much coin."
Eve shrugged. "Work, perhaps. Help mending my fence or scouring the woods for certain herbs I can't gather myself anymore. Something to prove you're not here to add to the list of vanishings."
Selene locked eyes with Havyn. "We can do that."
"Good." Eve applied a dollop of salve to a clean cloth. "Now hold still."
Selene hissed when the ointment touched her skin, but after a few seconds, her tense expression eased, and her breathing slowed. "That's… surprisingly soothing."
The older woman nodded. "A recipe from my grandmother. Don't ask me how to make it; I only share that knowledge with apprentices—ones I trust."
A brief silence followed as Eve finished bandaging Selene's side. Then she snapped her fingers at Havyn. "Your turn, boy. You look like you tussled with a boar."
Havyn blinked. "I'm fine," he tried, but Eve was already pushing him onto the stool, ignoring his protest.
She tsked at the bruises along his ribs and the ragged cut across his flank. "You're both lucky to be alive." Deftly, she cleaned his wound with a solution that stung like salt on fire, drawing a curse from him. Then she used the same salve, though more sparingly. "You'll mend. Keep that bandage dry if you can, and come back in a day or two so I can check on it."
Havyn gritted his teeth through the procedure. "Thank you."
Eve gave a curt nod. "You two can wait out the worst of the storm here if you like. I've got work to do, but you won't bother me if you sit quiet. Try not to knock anything over."
Selene's shoulders sagged in relief. "We appreciate it."
With that, Eve turned to her table of mortar and pestle, resuming some task involving dried nettles and a jar of thick amber liquid. Havyn cast a sidelong glance at Selene, who still looked pale but more comfortable. The rhythmic patter of rain against the shutters filled the herbalist's home with a subdued lull.