A beam of warm sunlight creeped across Fern’s freckled face, first slowly then faster as her usual sleep in kept her in bed until the later hours of the morning. She was only truly awoken by the sound of a sharp scream from downstairs.

“What happened?” Fern had to catch herself from tumbling down the stairs and right into her grandmother. Afon was sucking on her finger, intermittently shaking her right hand and letting out a wince. The flint and iron was in her other hand. “You shouldn’t do that without dad here.”

Afon handed the tools to Fern. As her granddaughter lit the stove to boil the water, Afon moved into their small lounge and got comfortable in her favourite chair, wrapping herself in a knitted green blanket that Fern’s mother had made years ago. “What do you mean he’s not here?”

Fern gulped as she stirred the water, but caught herself. “He went to the market this morning.”

“Oh good, we need some more tea leaves.” Despite life’s difficulties, and the economic state both her family and their village were in, tea was one small delicacy she allowed herself to indulge in. She fondly recalled stories that her father told her in her childhood, about how a trader from a far off northern land had once brought the first tea leaf saplings to their own land for their farmers to cultivate. He said the trader had pale skin, and dressed in the brightest blues and whites, as if wearing snow. Afon never truly believed him. She’d never seen such people for herself.

As she reminisced, Fern brought her over a cup of tea. She saw a lot of her father in her granddaughter, including his bright blue eyes, and of course his dark sunbaked skin, although almost everyone in this village had that. She took a sip of the tea, and while it was weak from a lack of leaves, it was still rich with love and care.

Fern took a seat on the floor near her grandmother. “What are you up to today my love? How is school?”

Fern stretched across the floor. “School is cancelled today grandma.”

“Sure it is…”

“It is! My teacher has been sick for the past few weeks with the same thing dad’s got. His hands can barely move anymore.” Fern sat up and looked down. “His son passed away earlier this week too. From hunger.”

Afon took a deep breath. She had known Fern’s teacher, Ako, for his entire life. She had taken him down to the river to play with Aeron all throughout his childhood. Those boys were best friends, and still are. She knew Aeron was thinking of him constantly when trying to find new medicine. The whole village was ecstatic when news broke about him and his partner having a baby. What a devastating loss for him and his family.

They were interrupted by a loud, desperate knock on the door. “Afon! It’s me.”

“Oh god,” Afon thought. Without being asked, Fern obediently got up to answer the door, knowing her grandmother would preferably get rid of this person sooner than have them hang around. As the door creaked open, Afon sarcastically asked Fern who it was.

“Fern! Oh it’s so good to see you darling.” The person jumped through the doorframe to hug her before Fern could even make out their face. As they pulled back, Fern recognised them as Ako’s partner, Eira. They looked pale - paler than usual that is. Eira’s mother was from their village, and had passed on a tint of her dark skin. Eira’s father, on the other hand, came from elsewhere. Their light lilac eyes looked desperate.

“What’s wrong?” Fern ushered them in, handing them a cup of hot water as they took a seat across from Afon. If the room was toasty from the morning sun beforehand, Afon’s glare turned it icy. Fern would never tell her grandmother to be quiet, but her face certainly would. For someone who was just reminded that the person in front of them had recently lost their son, Fern surely expected at least a trickle of decorum, if not sympathy, in spite of her foreign appearance.

Eira’s pale hands clasped the steaming mug as Fern handed it to them. “Thank you dear.” She took a sip, and then a deep breath. “It’s Ako. He’s not at home. Your father came to get him last night.”

Afon’s cold eyes shot to Fern, growing hotter with anger. “Market my ass…” She then mumbled some obscenities about not having more tea.

“What do you mean?” Fern asked, trying to play dumb in front of her grandmother. She knelt in front of Eira, clasping their chilly hands.

Eira sniffled. “I heard Aeron come by just after sunset. He said he was going to…” She looked at Afon, then to Fern. “He said he was going to do some research, and needed some help. Ako agreed to go with him. He promised he’d be back by sunrise, but that was hours ago and I haven’t seen him.” Eira began to sob uncontrollably. “I’m so worried about him. I can’t lose him, he’s all I have in this village since we lost Frost.”

Eira felt a warm pair of arms around them. They thanked Fern, only to see Fern out of the corner of their eye still sitting on the floor.

Afon wrapped her blanket around Eira. “I’m so sorry about your boy, Eira. I can’t imagine having such a devastating loss.” Their purple eyes filled with even more tears, and Eira clutched to Afon tightly and wailed into her chest. Fern wiped tears from her own face too. Her grandmother ran her fingers through Eira’s silky brown hair, and felt the warmth sapped from her by Eira’s frosty clutch. But she endured. “It’s okay darling. It’s okay, let it out.”

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Eira let out a desperate sob into Afon’s chest. “I saw this, Afon. I saw it coming in my dreams. I saw a child stripped from my clutch. I saw my grief and pain, and the grief of the whole world. I’ve been seeing it for years. This is it Afon. This is what my dreams mean.” Afon kept comforting Eira, but looked away and rolled her eyes. This is probably just this foreigner’s way of dealing with tremendous loss.

They all jumped as a firmer knock rattled their door. “Afon. Fern. It’s Deryn.” He let himself in. “It’s Aeron. We found him.”

“Where,” Afon growled, still cradling Eira.

Deryn sighed, his face painted with panic. “Afon… he’s not looking good. We found him collapsed at the edge of the forest at sunrise. He needs help immediately.”

Fern gasped. Fear shot into her chest like a cold bullet. Her father was the only medic in town. If he couldn’t save himself before, no one else would be able to.

“Bring him to me. Now.” Afon let go of Eira and rushed to their kitchen. She wiped everything off their large wooden table, cups and plates crashing and breaking on the floor. “Put him here.” Deryn looked at her, then to Fern, and gulped, unsure that Afon would be able to do anything to help Aeron. “Bring me my son now!”

Deryn rushed outside, with Fern following swiftly behind. They stumbled back in with an unconscious Aeron, one arm strewn limp across each of their shoulders. Afon drew a sharp breath at the sight of her near lifeless son. His beautiful hair was tangled with twigs, thistles and dirt. Deep, jagged wounds unravelled his skin from his forehead to his left cheek, as if either he had been prey for a wild long-clawed monster, or as if he were a page for a writer’s barbaric and sadistic script. Her beautiful boy had been massacred.

Fern helped Deryn bring him to the kitchen. The hunter hoisted him onto the table, as if he were today’s fresh catch. Afon approached him. Her eyes scanned and analysed his limp body. She tore off his shirt. To her horror, the infection that inflicted his hands had rapidly spread up both of his arm and was starting to cross his chest. Blood and mud pooled onto the table from the wounds on his face, marred by yellow and green ooze from his arm infection, and began to drip onto the kitchen floor. Eira pulled their hands to their mouth and turned away from the smell, and Fern stumbled back too, petrified. Afon knew she had to act quickly to save her son.

It had been many years since she had practiced healing. Her father had taught her in her childhood, using the herbs from the forest. She had gone with him to gather them, deep into the woods where they grew in abundance in the tree shade. He had taught her the ways of the forest. How to listen to the breath of the wind rush through his thick leaves. How the roots of each tree entwined and connected with each other, communicating in a hidden language. How the herbs that grew in the bark’s cracks had the same elements and building blocks for life, and how they could be harnessed to build and restore life in others.

He also taught her the way of the river. How her flow was like the flow of time, of memories, of stories, of spirit and blood. The river had always given life in a tangible sense with food, but he explained how it also gave life in a spiritual, and more powerful sense.

Afon’s father communicated these ways to her in words, but also in a more spiritual sense. When he harvested herbs from the forest, he always thanked him for giving these gifts to him and the village. And when the herbs heard his thanks, they began to glow. Afon never understood what that glow meant or how it worked, but whenever her father healed someone with those herbs, it was as if they had never been harmed, like they had been reborn. There was a magic in those herbs that Afon never truly comprehended.

It was this glow that Afon knew she had to manifest to save her son now. She grabbed Aeron’s basket to use what he had harvested. Her hand slipped right through the basket and the hole at the bottom. It was empty.

Afon began to panic. She rushed to her son’s workbench where he surely must’ve left some of his herbs from the day before, but there was nothing on it. She broke into his tool kit with her bare hands. Nothing. She screamed and cursed the gods.

Afon bent over with haste and looked under the bench, trying to catch a faint hint of the purple herb’s colour or scent. Again, nothing.

Afon’s heart rate soared. Sweat gushed down her forehead as she turned back toward her son. His blood was now tricking across the lounge and towards the front door from his blackened, tightened hands.

“Tightened?” Afon asked. Aeron’s body was limp, but his fingers were clutched together into a fist. She rushed to his hand, hoping and praying that it contained what she so desperately needed. She pried each of his decaying fingers apart from one another, each one snapping with a ghastly crack. His nailbeds peeled away from both the force and decay. As she forced her frail fingers through his with all of her strength, they brushed something sticky, soft, and floral.

Afon pulled the crushed herbs from Aeron’s hand, exhilarated. She apologised to the gods she had just cursed and thanked them for their blessing. She plucked their purple leaves, stained red with blood, and placed them delicately throughout Aeron’s wounds. His face now resembled a cruel floral and bloodied painting. Afon bent down to check Aeron’s nails, which were now on the floor, and managed to scrape off a few more leaves from them. She placed one in each of his hands, and smeared the rest across his blackened chest.

She stepped back. She had completed the first step, the step that she had trained her son how to do. The physical aspects, the scientific and biological and medicinal aspects. Now it was time for the spiritual.

Afon thanked the herbs for giving her son life. She held her left hand over his face, and the other above his right hand. She closed her eyes. The breath of the wind in the forest leaves filled her mind. Her mind shot through the network of forest roots, zooming from one tree to another. And then the river filled her mind too. Afon felt a warmth radiate from her hands towards her son, originating deep inside her and coursing through her veins. The leaves in Aeron’s wounds started to crack, then flourish, and then glow. They melded the fibers of his skin back together, sealing his wounds. The blackness in his chest retreated, and washed away down his arms.

As Afon opened her eyes, a bright purple glow emanated from them. She looked at her son. “Aeron,” she whispered through gentle sobs, lightly caressing his face.

Her son was still. The blood had stopped running from him, but he was still limp. Fern rushed to the other side of the table, knocking Deryn out of the way. She clutched his left hand. “Dad! Wake up!”

Fern felt a tickle in her palm. Aeron’s fingers twitched. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a soft groan. He was alive. Fern burst into tears.

Afon stumbled back. She had saved her son, but it had taken its toll on her. He took another short breath and groaned, and rolled his bright blue eyes towards his mother. Afon smiled.

And then she collapsed.