Fennel Thistledown's Arc

Chapter 14 of 21

Lily's patient healed, and Fennel felt one worry ease. But another stayed. Lily could doubt herself now. Oliver had never touched a sick person at all. He tended fire and hauled water. He knew the plants. He had never sat by a bed. Fennel could not send him out until she saw him work. So she made a test. She called him in from the cave the next morning. Oliver came with mud on his knees and a frosted branch in his hand. Tiny berries hung from it like beads of ice, catching the light. "Found this by the stream," he said. "Berries are cold. Might help a fever." He set it on the table, plain and sure. "Good eye," Fennel said. "But cold berries are not my test. Sit here." She patted the stool by her chair. Then she lay back and let her breath go shallow. She gripped her own chest. "My heart's racing, boy. It hurts. What do you do?" Oliver stared. His hands opened and closed. He looked at the herbs on the shelf, then at her face. His mouth moved but no words came. He did not reach for a single leaf. "Oliver," Fennel said. "Name one thing." "I don't know." His voice cracked. "There's too many. What if I pick wrong?" He shoved back from the stool. "I bake bread. I don't heal people. You should send Lily." Fennel sat up slow. Her knees screamed but she hid it. This was the true blocker. Not that he lacked the knowledge. He froze because the mistake terrified him. She knew that fear. She had cured it in Lily only yesterday. "Sit down," she said. "You froze. That's not failing. That's caring too much to guess. But a frozen healer helps no one." She pointed at the frosted branch. "You found that yourself. You already think like a healer. You just don't trust it yet." She made him try again. This time she talked him through it. "Feel the pulse first. Always first. Then name the calmest herb you know." Oliver pressed two fingers to her wrist. He breathed out. "The one that steadies the belly and the heart. The red-tinted sprig." He looked up. "Steeped warm. A small dose first." "Yes," Fennel said. "You knew all along." They worked until dusk. She threw questions at him fast, then slow, until his hands stopped shaking. By dark he could answer without freezing. But Fennel saw the truth clearly now. Knowing an answer in her kitchen was not the same as facing a sick child alone. Oliver needed a real patient. A small case. One where a wrong guess would not kill. She could not test him further with pretending. She would have to wait for someone to come to the door. And when they did, she would send Oliver to the bedside, and stay close enough to catch him.