The snow was still falling softly as I approached the healers' house.
It was my first real visit. Until now, the small cluster of buildings had always been a curious part of village life — a place of strong smells, odd movements, and voices occasionally too loud for people who worked with plants.
But this time, I was here not out of curiosity, but out of necessity.
My sister needed help.
The house stood slightly apart from the main square, though still within the village circle. The structure consisted of a main house and two smaller annexes, surrounded by a simple wooden fence. Even under the snow-covered ground, the herb garden stood out.
Plants of varying heights and colors grew in rustic but orderly rows. Broad, glossy leaves, small shrubs with dark berries, thin stalks tied to stakes, and even some yellow-petaled flowers swayed gently in the cold wind.
The air was thick with the scent of herbs, damp earth, and faint incense burning in a clay pot by the door.
Near one of the garden beds, as always, strutted the infamous one-winged rooster.It balanced itself with unsettling precision, as if the world had always functioned that way.
You're still here, aren't you?
The door opened before I could knock.
Ravik, the leader of the healers, stood wrapped in a thick, dark wool cloak, leather pouches hanging from his sides. His temples were streaked with white, though his head still held strong brown strands. His long, well-kept beard was tied with a small wooden ring.
But it was his eyes — sharp, alive — that always seemed to study everything with ease.
— Torren.Your mother had mentioned to me a few days ago that your sister was growing more sensitive to the cold.This morning, Marta stopped by and told me her condition worsened.We've prepared a few things. Come in — the cold shows no mercy to those who wait at the door.
I nodded and stepped inside.
Warmth filled the interior, maintained by a large brazier in the center of the main room. The walls were draped in thick fabrics, embroidered with herb patterns and rustic symbols. Dozens of thick glass jars, ceramic pots, and cloth-wrapped bundles lined the shelves, sharing space with folded parchments.
Marla, Ravik's wife, sat on a low bench, carefully sorting dried leaves into a wooden bowl. Her gray hair was tied in a tight bun, her face calm but her sharp eyes silently followed my every movement.
Further back, Len, their son, reorganized flasks along a long shelf. Tall, thin, and disheveled, he murmured formulas to himself as he worked, as if reciting invisible recipes:
— Bitter root... two parts. Dried flower... half measure. Light infusion... natural cooling...
Each jar placed became part of his almost hypnotic ritual.
By a side table, Nira, their granddaughter, her long brown hair braided, scribbled notes onto pieces of makeshift parchment. Upon seeing me, she smiled and briefly raised her quill in a quiet, friendly greeting.
Ravik gestured toward the bench before him.
— Come, boy. Tell me the details. The more we know, the better we can help.
I took a breath and began.
— The fever rose sharply this morning. Heavy sweating, alternating with chills. Her skin stays hot despite the cold. Breathing is heavy. She sleeps longer. She seems weak.
Nira was already jotting down each word quickly. Ravik crossed his arms, satisfied.
— A precise description for someone your age. Many adults couldn't summarize so well.
— My father always says: those who observe closely suffer less later — I answered.
Marla, still handling the leaves, murmured in a soft, almost maternal tone:
— He already has an apprentice's eyes, this one.
Ravik began sorting herbs on the table.
The broad leaves reminded me of boldo from my previous world. Digestive and calming.The dry roots resembled ginseng. Strengthening, perhaps.The serrated, bright green leaves carried the fresh scent of mint. Calming, helpful for breathing.
As I quietly observed, Nira glanced up, curious.
— You seem to recognize a few plants.
I paused briefly before answering, carefully:
— Some look like what my parents used to brew into teas... but the scent is slightly different here.
Ravik raised his gaze, attentive.
— Good eyes. And humility. Knowing you don't know everything is the first true sign of wisdom.
Len briefly interrupted his murmuring as he checked the mixtures.
— Boiling water... three-minute infusion... cool slightly before serving... — before resuming his quiet chant.
With the ingredients prepared, Ravik spoke calmly:
— Here's what we'll use: a light tea to reduce the fever, another to ease the breathing, and this paste to apply on her forehead to regulate her warmth.
He handed me a neatly tied cloth bag containing the small jars and clear instructions.
— If the fever doesn't ease within two days, return. The body often just needs a gentle nudge in the right direction.
I nodded respectfully.
— Thank you very much, Master Ravik.
As I headed toward the door, he added with a faint smile:
— The body always speaks to us, Torren. The secret lies in learning to listen.
Outside, the snow continued its quiet dance.The one-winged rooster paced, unfazed by the weight of the world, balancing itself with odd grace.
Each of us finds our own balance...
And I, too, was finding mine.