The road had been long and unkind.
Vigdis trudged forward, the weight of her pack pressing against her shoulders as the sun hung low in the sky. The crossbow swung at her side with each step, its unfamiliar weight a constant reminder of the outpost fight. Her bandaged arm throbbed, a dull ache that had taken root days ago and only grown worse.
Her thoughts kept circling back to the creatures—their unnatural movements, their empty sockets, and the black, sticky liquid that had splattered across her skin when she’d struck them down. The wounds weren’t healing as they should. The gashes burned, a faint but nagging heat that crawled along her veins like a slow poison.
She pressed on anyway. There was no room for weakness.
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She caught sight of the settlement as the trees thickened around her, their surprising greenery a welcome change from the wasteland’s usual drab palette. It was small—just a cluster of buildings nestled between the rolling hills, their roofs barely visible through the canopy. Smoke curled lazily from one of the chimneys, and the faint hum of voices reached her ears as she approached.
Vigdis slowed, her grip tightening on the axe slung across her back. Settlements could be a gamble—friendly faces or bloodthirsty raiders. But these people didn’t seem like raiders. The children running between the buildings, their laughter carrying on the wind, didn’t fit the profile.
She stepped out of the trees and onto the settlement’s edge, her boots crunching softly against the gravel path. A few heads turned her way—farmers pausing mid-swing with their tools, a woman hanging laundry on a line. Their expressions held curiosity but no fear.
Vigdis raised a hand in a cautious wave. “I’m just passing through,” she said, her voice steady but loud enough to carry.
An older man stepped forward from the group, his wiry frame hunched slightly as he leaned on a cane. His face was weathered but kind, his eyes squinting at her in the fading light. “Not many pass this way,” he said, his voice rough but warm. “What brings you to Thornshade?”
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Vigdis followed the man—Hale, he’d introduced himself—as he led her deeper into the settlement. The buildings were simple but sturdy, their wooden frames patched in places with metal scraps and mismatched planks. Gardens lined the paths, vibrant with vegetables and herbs that seemed too healthy for this land.
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“Good soil here,” Hale said, noticing her glance. “Spring nearby keeps it fertile. Haven’t seen it dry up in decades.”
Vigdis nodded, but her thoughts lingered on the black veins creeping under her skin. The throbbing in her arm had grown worse as they walked, her fingers tingling faintly. She adjusted the axe on her back, trying to shake the discomfort.
“Got a healer?” she asked, her voice low.
Hale stopped and turned, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “You hurt?”
“Not bad,” she lied, though her pallor told another story. “Just need someone who knows their plants.”
Hale studied her for a moment longer before nodding. “Aeryn’ll take a look at you. She’s sharp with medicines. Lives by the far well—small house with the red door. You’ll find it.”
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The red door was as Hale described, its paint faded and chipped but unmistakable. Vigdis knocked once, her knuckles grazing the wood before the door creaked open.
A woman in her forties stood in the threshold, her sleeves rolled up and a sprig of something green tucked behind one ear. Her eyes swept over Vigdis, sharp and calculating, before she stepped aside. “Come in,” she said briskly.
The room smelled of herbs and smoke, dried bundles hanging from the beams and shelves lined with glass jars. Aeryn gestured to a stool near the hearth, and Vigdis sat, shrugging her pack off with a grunt.
“Let’s see it,” Aeryn said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Vigdis rolled up her sleeve, exposing the bandages beneath. Aeryn’s expression darkened as she unwound them, revealing the angry red gashes laced with black veins.
“What did this?” Aeryn asked, her fingers light but firm as she examined the wounds.
“Things that weren’t birds,” Vigdis said dryly, watching the healer’s reaction.
Aeryn’s jaw tightened. She stood and began pulling jars from the shelves, her movements precise and practiced. “Whatever it was, it left something behind,” she said. “Your blood’s fighting it, but not fast enough. You’ll need a poultice to draw it out.”
Vigdis leaned back against the wall, exhaustion tugging at her limbs. “Seen this before?”
Aeryn paused, her back to Vigdis. “Not exactly,” she said carefully. “But things in this land tend to leave their mark.”
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Hours later, Vigdis sat outside the healer’s house, her arm freshly wrapped and the poultice cooling against her skin. The sky above was painted with stars, their light cutting through the darkness of the treetops.
She watched the settlement’s quiet rhythm—the distant murmur of voices, the faint clang of metal as someone worked late into the night. It was peaceful here, almost unnervingly so. She hadn’t seen this kind of life in years, hadn’t let herself believe it still existed.
But even as the calm settled over her, the road west pulled at her thoughts. The map, folded neatly in her pack, was a constant weight in her mind. Whatever that was—still waited.
For now, though, she let herself breathe.