Owodo Greenleaf's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The dust from the rider's horse had barely settled when Owodo heard hooves again, more than one horse this time. She stayed on her knees beside the wolf and counted. Four riders, maybe five, coming faster than a message and slower than a charge. The rider had not gone to the prince. He had gone for guards. She looked at the wolf, then at the small glass house she had built at the field's edge, its panes fogged with the breath of her test plants. She had minutes, not hours. She moved. She grabbed her satchel and ran for the greenhouse, herb bundles swinging against the leather. Inside, she pulled clean linen from a shelf and tore it into strips. She emptied comfrey leaves into her mortar, added yarrow for bleeding, pine resin for sealing wounds. She ground fast, added bran water, and spread the paste onto the linen. Battle salve. Field gauze. The kind of thing a guard captain recognized on sight. She packed six wrapped bandages, three jars of cream, and a small tin of burn balm into a flat basket. Outside, a squirrel sat on the greenhouse step, tail flicking. Owodo crouched and pressed a scrap of birch bark into its paws. She had scratched three words with charcoal: fields, guards, come. She whispered the prince's name against its ear the way her grandmother had taught her, and the squirrel bolted toward the keep. The wolf watched it go and did not move from her side. The iron gate at the field's edge groaned open. Four guards came through, spears mounted high on the bars swinging as the hinges turned. Vines snapped where the metal scraped. The court rider rode at their back, pointing at her. "That one. She claimed the prince's wolf. She is trespassing." The lead guard dismounted. His hand rested on his sword. He was young, and his knuckles were split, and there was a poorly wrapped cut along his forearm bleeding through wool. Owodo stood with the basket held out flat, palms up. "Before you take me anywhere, look at your arm." She did not raise her voice. "I have salve that will close that by morning. I have gauze that will not stick. I have cream for the two behind you who are limping." The guard glanced down at his sleeve, then at his men. She stepped closer and unwrapped a bandage. "Sit. One minute. Then arrest me if you still want to." He sat. She cleaned the cut, packed it with comfrey paste, and wrapped it tight. The second guard came forward without being asked. By the time the third rolled up his trouser to show a burn, hooves sounded again on the road, faster and single. The prince rode through the open gate with the squirrel on his shoulder. He looked at his guards, kneeling around a herbalist, and he did not order her ta