Sage Thornwood had three sick animals on her kitchen floor and room to treat only one. A fox kit shivered in a basket by the hearth. A crow with a broken wing huddled under the table. A rabbit coughed in her cupped hands, and she could not set it down anywhere clean. Her whole dream was to heal every hurt creature in the hollow. This morning her kitchen made that dream a lie. The cottage was one small stone room wrapped in vines, built under a wide old tree. Sage loved it. But her kettles filled the stove. Dried herbs crowded every shelf. Three pots simmered, and a fourth had nowhere to go. She needed to brew fever tonic, cough syrup, and wing salve at once. She could not. The rabbit coughed again, wet and weak. She wiped her eyes with her wrist and kept working. She brewed the tonic first because the fox was worst. While it steeped, she held the rabbit and sang to it, low. Her voice kept her hands steady. But she knew the crow would wait too long. Waiting might cost its wing. A knock shook the door. Sage opened it with the rabbit still against her chest. Tyr filled the whole frame. He was a fae potion-master, tall and heavy-built, with dark hair past his shoulders and ink climbing both arms. For a year he had found reasons to come here. He always watched her like she was the only lit window on a dark road. Tonight he carried a small cloth bundle in both hands. "You've been crying," he said. Not a question. "I can't brew fast enough," Sage said. "I have no space. Animals are dying on my floor while I wait for one pot." Tyr stepped inside and saw the three baskets, the crowded stove. He set his bundle on the one clear spot and unwrapped it. Inside lay a charm of pale moonstone, shaped like a tiny arched doorway. It glowed soft, like a low moon. "I made this for you," he said. "Hang it on any inside wall. It won't change the cottage from outside. But inside, the room opens as wide as you need." Sage stared at him. "That took months." "It took a year," he said, and looked away. She hung the charm beside the hearth. The air split with a cool breath. The stone wall stretched back and back. Where one cramped kitchen had stood, a long bright workroom now reached into shadow. Rows of empty tables waited. Space for twenty kettles. Space for every animal in the hollow. Sage carried the rabbit to a new table and finally set it down on clean cloth. She started a second pot, then a third. For the first time, nothing had to wait. Then she counted the empty tables and understood the new problem. She had room for a hundred sick animals now. She did not yet have the animals, the hands, or the herbs to fill it.