Orc and Bunny

Chapter 2 - Herb Gathering

Belmoral had always had an interest in medicine. When her mother was ill, a traveling herbalist had been passing through their village, and had saved her life with a tincture. She had been seven. By the time Belmoral was eleven her mother had succumbed to the illness that she now knew was bitterbane.

Her father, in his grief, had retired into the mountains. Everyone was sure that he intended to fight his grief out until he was slain by some wild beast. Britom, the god of trials, apparently had other plans. She lived with her grandmother for six months before he returned, changed.

He was cold when he finally returned from the forest to the west. Around his shoulders he wore a cloak made from some sort of large beast. His arms were covered in hundreds of fresh scars, and one tusk was broken just above his lower lip. His eyes had a darkness, and his gait was off.

When Belmoral and her grandmother saw him, they tried to talk to him, but he simply walked past them and straight to the chief’s lodge. The chief exited, greeting him as an old friend, asking if his journey had brought him peace at last. Her father met this friendly greeting by punching the chief and knocking him flat.

“I challenge you, as is my right granted by Britom,” were the only words he said as he waited for the chief to stand to his feet. The fight that followed was long and brutal, both men being relatively evenly matched. It lasted for hours before ultimately the chief won, but it was at a high price - her father’s life.

The hardest part of it all for Belmoral was the lack of answers. No one had any idea what had happened to her father in the forest to the west, but it became a place that no one visited for fear of meeting his same fate. It was for that reason, fifteen years later, that she was in the eastern forest, even though the herbs she needed were reportedly more common in the western forest.

Belmoral’s grandmother had fallen ill, and she was determined to help her. Her grandmother’s breathing had started to grow ragged, and she was in and out of consciousness. Bitterbane had come for more of her family, but this time she knew what she needed to do. The rest of the village didn’t want to help her because they couldn’t be sure if she was unable or unwilling to ask for help. Most said that this was a trial she was meant to either overcome alone or succumb to as Britom willed.

Belmoral didn’t care about the will of Britom one bit. She was certain that her grandmother wasn’t able to ask for help, thus it was allowed for her to help. Most of the other villages near their’s didn’t care for the Britomites. They thought her people cold, and uncaring, but the reality was that they believed that to help unbidden robbed the other person of their strength and such a thing was unforgivable.

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There were allowable exceptions, if someone asked for help, the Britomites jumped in and helped without a second thought, and with no expectation of reward. Children, the elderly, and those about to die, were generally allowed to be helped without being asked. Though most even waited for children to ask for help, so they wouldn’t grow to be helpless.

Belmoral hunted for the telltale signs of Hortensia’s Jewel. While most people loved the appearance of the bright purple flowers, it was actually the roots that were valuable as an herb. Though the leaves also made a nice tea. Spotting a small group of the flowers behind a bush, she set her bardiche against the nearby tree, and dug the whole plant up with a deft push of her trowel.

When she had collected enough, a little over half of the patch of flowers, she replaced the dirt before standing up, clapping the dirt from her hands, and wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Now I need to find the Witch’s Hair Fern,” she said to herself, placing the flowers into the satchel she had strung over one shoulder, and picking up her weapon of choice. Every Britomite was trained in the use of a weapon from a young age. She had chosen the bardiche because of its ability to be used outside of combat as well as in. She used it more often for hacking away underbrush, chopping wood, or as a walking stick.

She picked her way through the forest in the way that only an experienced forester can. Slowly examining all the plants she came across. Occasionally she would stop and pull the leaves off of a bush, or the flowers off a stem, when she found something she knew she was getting low on.

After a couple of hours wandering, the forest was on a slope so she didn’t need to worry about getting lost, she finally found the last ingredient she needed for her grandmother. The Witch’s Hair Fern was especially tricky to harvest, The leaves were thin, long, and prone to breaking. If they wormed their way under the skin, which they were known to do, they caused dehydration. But when they were dried, and ground into a powder, they were able to clear the respiratory system.

Belmoral put on thick leather gloves from her satchel before she painstakingly cut the leaves into a leather pouch with a dagger that was hanging from her belt. When the pouch was nearly full, she stopped, and pulled the drawstrings closed. Sighing with relief, she put everything away and continued on her way through the forest, looking for any other herbal treasures she might find.

She had been enjoying the peaceful serenity of the forest, and considering stopping for lunch when she heard a low rumbling. The ground began to shake, and when she climbed a tree to see what was happening, a bright pillar of green light shot up into the sky. Even in the bright afternoon sun, it was somehow brighter.

As suddenly as it had appeared it was gone. She sat in the tree stunned. She had heard about upheavals from her grandmother’s stories. Everyone knew about them, but they were so occasional, and so random, that actually seeing one was rare.

Before she knew it, she was dashing through the forest, towards where the light had been. Trees blurred past her, as she jumped, and avoided roots, and pushed through ferns. She stopped suddenly in front of a cave.

“Oh, no,” she said under her breath, “please tell me no one ended up in the goblin’s cave.”