Days passed quietly as winter slowly loosened its grip.
My sister now ran through the house as if the fever had never existed. Each morning, our breath still rose in visible clouds, but the sun's light grew stronger, and the long shadows of the pines surrounding the village shifted, signaling the season's gradual retreat.
My visits to the healers' house became more frequent.Sometimes, I brought small errands from my mother. Other times, I simply came — though I rarely admitted it aloud.
They didn't ask much.The door would open, warmth would greet me, and I would settle in quietly, as if I belonged to the daily rhythm of the house.
One morning, I found Ravik working over a thick infusion. Len mumbled his usual measuring chants while Nira diligently scribbled her notes.
Marla sat by the window, grinding fresh roots in a small mortar, the sharp, acidic scent filling the room.
— Good morning — I greeted as I moved toward my usual spot on the side bench.
— Good morning, Torren — Marla replied with a quick smile. — Your sister is still doing well?
— Better than all of us — I answered, and her smile widened.
Ravik, focused on his mixture, barely glanced up.
— We're preparing something for Aldric today. That dry cough of his has returned.
I glanced at the dried leaves spread across the table. Some I recognized. Others, not yet.
I leaned in slightly, curious.
— Is that... Saven root? — I ventured.
Ravik raised an eyebrow. Nira paused her quill mid-air.
— You know Saven? — Ravik asked, not surprised, but genuinely interested.
— I've seen something similar before — I answered naturally.In my past world, my parents had used something alike for nighttime coughs.
— Good memory — Ravik nodded. — Here, we call it stag's mouth root. It works well for chest irritation, if used moderately. Bitter if overdone.
— Is that why you soak it first? — I asked, noticing a clay pot nearby where roots sat submerged.
Marla chuckled softly.
— Observant today, aren't you?
Ravik nodded again.
— Yes. Warm water draws out part of the bitter elements, leaving the remainder more balanced for brewing.
I continued to watch as Ravik finely sliced the roots.Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked:
— And these darker leaves... don't they risk molding during storage? I noticed some pale spots along the edges.
Ravik paused his cutting, examining them closely.
— Good eye. If it's mold, the smell gives it away. It should be lightly earthy — never sweet or sour.
He brought the leaves closer to his nose.
— Still good. But by tomorrow, they'll be used or thrown away.
Nira resumed her scribbling while Marla added lightly:
— We've gained another pair of eyes in this house.
In the days that followed, the pattern repeated.
Sometimes I brought small deliveries. Other times, I simply appeared and stayed.Ravik never assigned me tasks.Yet with time, our conversations deepened.
One afternoon, as Marla prepared a topical ointment, she carefully measured root powder.
— One-third of a small spoon for half a cup of fat — she said.
The spoon was wooden, carved by Len, with small notches on the handle for measurement.
The rough measurements caught my attention.Perhaps a more consistent reference, like finger widths or hand spans, might make repetition easier.
I ventured:
— Marla... what if instead of spoons, you used finger lengths? As a reference, I mean. It would be constant for each person.
She paused, considering.
— Hmm... I never thought of that. It might help when the spoons aren't at hand.
Ravik, listening from nearby, added:
— The proportion matters most. The reference can vary, but consistency keeps the balance.
From the shelves, Len mumbled his chant:
— Two fingers of root... half a thumb of flower... heat until melted...
Nira, as always, jotted everything down attentively.
On another occasion, while sorting freshly gathered leaves, Ravik showed me a few yellowed ones.
— These are past their point. Poor drying.
— Is it due to internal moisture? — I asked. — Maybe covering them with a coarse cloth for the first hours could help draw out excess before hanging.
Marla glanced at Ravik, who allowed himself a small smile.
— Worth testing. We'll try it on the next batch.
The small contributions accumulated.
I never offered everything at once.Each suggestion came naturally, as though I simply "remembered" family practices.The line between what I knew and what they assumed I learned from them grew increasingly blurred.
One morning, Marla raised a practical observation.
— Torren, I've noticed you always clean your hands before touching the plants. Even when you're only watching.
Ravik looked up, curious as well.
— Any special reason?
I chose my words carefully:
— My parents always said dirty hands could spoil the teas. The oils, the sweat... they might alter the taste and effect.
Marla nodded thoughtfully.
— That makes sense.
Ravik crossed his arms.
— We never thought much of it, but... I have noticed flavor differences in some sensitive infusions.
Nira, excited, was already scribbling again.
And so, time moved on.
Without realizing it, I had become part of their environment.There was no formality.None of us labeled what was happening.But the exchanges grew, little by little.