The girl led Nim down the narrow cobblestone streets of Cedorin, her small hand clutching the bundle of cloth tightly. She didn’t speak as they walked, but her occasional glances toward Nim carried a mix of curiosity and caution.

Nim took in the village as they passed. The homes were modest, their timbered walls weathered by years of sun and rain. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint sound of a hammer rang out from a distant forge. Despite the simplicity, the village exuded a quiet sense of resilience.

The girl stopped in front of a small cottage with a sagging roof and a garden overgrown with wildflowers. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, beckoning Nim to follow.

Inside, the air was warm but heavy, carrying the faint, damp smell of illness. A woman stood near the hearth, her back stiff as she stirred a pot of broth. She turned sharply as they entered, her wary eyes falling immediately on Nim.

“This is her, Mama,” the girl said, stepping closer to her mother. “The healer.”

The woman—Feyria—wiped her hands on her apron, her gaze narrowing. “Yeva’s replacement,” she said, her tone flat.

“I am,” Nim replied softly, clasping her hands in front of her.

Feyria hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she gestured toward a small cot in the corner of the room. “My boy’s there. Fever started last night. Cough came with it.”

Nim stepped toward the cot, her movements deliberate and calm. The boy lay curled under a patchwork blanket, his cheeks flushed and his breathing uneven. She knelt beside him, her porcelain fingers brushing lightly against his forehead.

“His fever isn’t too high,” she murmured, glancing back at Feyria. “It’s likely just a passing illness.”

Feyria crossed her arms, watching Nim’s every move. “And you can treat it?”

Nim nodded, reaching into her satchel. She withdrew a small jar of dried elderflower and a bundle of chamomile, their faint, comforting scents wafting into the air as she worked. “A simple tea will help bring down the fever and ease his breathing.”

She moved to the hearth, her steps quiet but purposeful. Feyria tensed as Nim reached for a kettle, but when the girl tugged at her mother’s sleeve, Feyria sighed and nodded.

Nim brewed the tea with practiced care, adding a touch of honey from her own stores to make it more palatable. She carried the steaming cup back to the boy, gently coaxing him to sit up and sip. He blinked at her with wide, fever-bright eyes, but the warmth of the tea seemed to comfort him.

Within moments, his breathing grew steadier, and his flushed cheeks began to pale.

Feyria watched silently from across the room, her expression unreadable. When Nim stepped back, the older woman moved to her son’s side, pressing a hand to his forehead. She let out a breath, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

“It worked,” she said grudgingly.

Nim inclined her head. “The fever will break by morning. If it doesn’t, let me know, and I’ll prepare something stronger.”

Feyria nodded, though her wariness didn’t fade entirely. “Thank you.”

Before Nim could respond, the girl stepped forward, holding out the bundle of cloth she had been clutching. She unwrapped it to reveal a small wooden carving—a rough but charming depiction of a bird mid-flight.

“It’s for you,” the girl said, her voice shy but sincere. “For helping.”

Nim accepted the carving with gentle hands, her porcelain fingers brushing lightly against the smooth wood. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “It’s beautiful.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The girl smiled, and for the first time, Nim felt a flicker of true acceptance.

The walk back to her hut was quiet, the village settling into the golden hues of late afternoon. Nim carried the wooden bird carefully, its presence a small but tangible sign that her place here might not be impossible.

Inside the hut, she placed the carving on her shelf, letting it stand as a reminder of her first success in Cedorin. She spent the next hour arranging her space, setting her jars and tools neatly on the table and tucking Yeva’s journal into a safe corner.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, Nim lit a small lantern and sat at the table, opening the journal to an empty page. Her neat handwriting filled the space as she wrote:

> First day in the village. Treated a young boy with a fever. His mother was wary, but the girl showed kindness. It’s a start.

Outside, the village quieted, the hum of voices fading into the stillness of night. Nim closed the journal and set her pen aside, her gaze lingering on the flickering lantern light.

‘I will make this work,’ she thought, the weight of her promise to Yeva settling comfortably in her chest.

And as the forest’s distant whispers faded into the night, Nim felt, for the first time, the faint stirrings of hope.

...

The soft light of dawn filtered through the wooden shutters of Nim’s hut, casting faint patterns across the neatly arranged table. She sat in the quiet, her porcelain hands deftly sorting dried herbs into small bundles. Lavender for calming tea, willow bark for fevers, and a handful of mint leaves for flavoring—it was a comforting routine, one she’d learned from Yeva over countless mornings like this.

Outside, the village stirred. The low murmur of voices mixed with the distant clatter of hooves and the occasional bark of a dog. Nim glanced toward the small window, her reflection faint and doll-like in the glass.

'They’re awake now,' she thought, smoothing a wrinkle from her dress. 'Maybe today someone will visit.'

She didn’t have to wait long.

The knock was hesitant, barely audible over the morning bustle. Nim rose quickly, brushing her hands against her apron as she crossed the room. When she opened the door, a young woman stood there, leaning on a crude wooden staff.

“I’m Mira,” the woman said, her voice uncertain. “I—I hurt my ankle. Are you... are you able to help?”

Nim’s expression softened. “Of course. Please, come inside.”

Mira hobbled in, her staff clunking softly against the floorboards. Nim gestured for her to sit on a stool by the hearth, then knelt to examine the swollen ankle.

“It happened while I was chasing one of the sheep,” Mira explained, her tone light despite the discomfort. “She got into the briars, and... well, I slipped trying to pull her out.”

Nim smiled faintly. “Shepherding sounds like hard work.”

“It can be,” Mira admitted. “But it’s worth it, I think. I’m not so sure the sheep agree, though.”

The small joke made Nim chuckle, easing the tension in the room. She unrolled a strip of linen and began applying a paste-like salve to the swollen area. The cooling effect was immediate, and Mira let out a small sigh of relief.

“This will help with the swelling,” Nim said. “Keep it wrapped for a day or two, and try not to strain it too much.”

Mira nodded, watching Nim’s careful movements. “Thank you,” she said after a moment. “I... didn’t think it’d be so quick.”

“It’s a simple remedy,” Nim replied. “But it works.”

As Mira stood to leave, she hesitated by the door. “You’re not like I expected,” she said finally, her tone almost apologetic.

Nim tilted her head. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know... something colder. Like the stories say.” Mira shifted awkwardly. “But you’re kind.”

The words lingered even after Mira was gone, leaving Nim with a quiet sense of hope.

The second visitor arrived closer to noon. This time, the knock was sharp and deliberate.

Nim opened the door to find Garrin, the farmer, standing there with a grim expression. His left hand was bandaged clumsily, red seeping through the makeshift wrapping.

“My wife said I should come,” he muttered, not meeting Nim’s eyes. “Said you’d fix it.”

“Let me see,” Nim said gently, stepping aside to let him in.

He sat stiffly on the same stool Mira had used, holding out his hand without a word. Nim unwrapped the bandage carefully, revealing a jagged cut along his palm. The edges were inflamed, and Nim noted faint traces of dirt around the wound.

“This needs to be cleaned,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “It’ll sting, but it’s necessary to prevent infection.”

Garrin grunted but didn’t protest.

As Nim worked, she tried to fill the silence. “You must work hard, tending the fields.”

“It’s what needs doing,” he replied curtly.

Undeterred, Nim continued. “Yeva often mentioned how much the village relies on its farmers. She spoke highly of you.”

Garrin’s posture softened, just barely, though his expression remained guarded. “She was a good woman,” he said quietly.

“She was,” Nim agreed, finishing the dressing. “And I hope I can help as she did.”

When Garrin left, he didn’t thank her directly, but the stiffness in his gait seemed less pronounced. Nim took it as a small victory.

Later that afternoon, Nim decided to explore the village. The streets were busier now, filled with people going about their day. Children darted between houses, their laughter mingling with the steady rhythm of life.

Nim walked slowly, her gaze sweeping over the market stalls and bustling activity. Some villagers offered polite nods as she passed, while others averted their eyes. A few whispered, though she couldn’t catch their words.

Near the edge of the market, she spotted an older woman tending to a stall of dried herbs. The woman’s sharp eyes flicked toward Nim, her mouth curling into a faint smirk.

“You’re Yeva’s doll,” the woman said, her tone blunt but not unkind.

“I am,” Nim replied, stopping in front of the stall. “And you must be Tressa.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Yeva spoke of me?”

“She did,” Nim said. “She admired your skill with plants.”

Tressa chuckled. “Flattering words, but I know she considered herself better.” Her gaze softened slightly. “Still, she was a good healer. Let’s see if you’re the same.”

The challenge hung in the air, but Nim simply nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

As evening fell, Nim returned to her hut. She lit her lantern and sat at the small table, her hands busy organizing the herbs she’d gathered during her walk.

She paused to write in Yeva’s journal, her handwriting steady as she recorded the day’s events:

> Two visitors today. Both wary, but I think I made a small impression. The village feels alive in ways I didn’t expect. There’s hope here, if I’m patient.

Setting the pen down, Nim glanced at the wooden bird on her shelf. The gift from the little girl seemed to watch over her, its presence a quiet reminder that even the smallest gestures mattered.

Outside, the village settled into stillness, the hum of life fading into the soft rustle of leaves. Nim leaned back, allowing herself a moment of quiet satisfaction.