The walls were creaking all along the house, from the furthest corner to the nearest. Time has past in this place mercilessly, with no hesitation for aging everything until a decay point. All the ceilings were so low and moldy, covered in years of stains. The windows were scarce, and most of them had countless cracks and holes. Kysante could hear the trembling of the wind against the walls with sharpness, and he would get goosebumps from the breeze sneaking through the gaps.

“I was not expecting to find a welcoming lady in such harsh lands.”

“I am not such thing.” said the young woman, pouring a cup of tea for them both. “I do not hold any nobility titles, unfortunately.”

He grabbed the tiny cup of tea and gave it a small, insignificant sip, with no trust in what was diluted in the herbs. The infusion was purple pale, with a clear base of green leaves and a strong hint of oregano flowers and lavender.

The cooking area of the house consisted of a few crumbling cabinets, a dozen of shelves replete with jars of queer aspects, a small stove and some counter space. There was nothing on here that resembled a kitchen, yet she was cooking indeed. The place was of a nature closer to a working station, covered in plants, herbs, strange infusions and liquids, and tools that were not used at all for meal preparations. The only pot in display, standing over a dim fire on the wood burning stove, contained the tea that they were now drinking with caution. It had been burning and simmering probably for an hour before he entered the house.

She had been waiting, patiently, for someone. No one drinks such obscene amount of tea by themselves.

“What brings you to my door, traveler?”, she asked with serenity.

Looking at the floor dented wood planks,the knight could see the years of decay taking over the house. The woman was clearly not blessed in the hard crafting field, but rather the alchemical one.

“I don’t have an answer for that question. I am wandering in seek of a valuable trinket that I need to buy, for my patron.” Kysante held his stare with confidence. “May I know what are you named after, young lad- woman?”.

Naturally, people that were not of a high born origin had names based on their craft, professions, or reputation. Sometimes your family name would overcome your first one, by lack of skills. But in other occasions, names could also be related to an item. Something that defined people, that described them more than words or physical appearance.

“I am named after Urtica, for my ability with plants.”

“That is indeed very much interesting. Why, from all herbs in earth, have people chosen to call you after the one that causes the most pain?”

“Oh, but you are wrong, traveler. Nettles do not cause pain. They are but only a herb, with many properties. Sometimes, they can save your life. Other times, they can be used to grow other more needed plants. Nettles can be useful and noble herbs. They do not hurt.”

“But why then, if I touch a nettle, I feel the need to scratch a stinging pain?”

“It is not because of the plant itself, but because of people. Humans can’t take advantage of a nettle in its natural wild state. We are all susceptible to its touch, and we will fall ill if we don’t handle it cautiously. But have you ever seen any animal, insect, or living being injured by a nettle?”

Kysante thought for a moment, in silence. What she said was nonsense. But it was true.

“I am afraid that I can’t follow your line of thinking. But it does make sense.”

“I can show you, if you allow me.” Urtica offered, almost seductively.

The knight was no longer scared, but curious. His faith-written coming to this old dusty hut was not something he saw in his plans. But now a woman had caught his interest with riddles. And he was going to take whatever the Gods offered through the free will of people.

Urtica walked outside and dissipated into the night, like a shadow. She was unusually thin, and her dark curly hair helped with the blend of the night into her body. For what seemed like an eternity, Kysante held his breath. For what he knew, she could have come back with a killing blow. He was blinded by the darkness, feeling much like a prey again.

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But Urtica silently walked back into the house, with soft movements that seemed like a dance, and with a pot the size of a pumpkin full of nettles.

“Now, traveler, you must listen. And fear not, for I have no intentions of causing damage to you. Touch the nettle with your right hand.”

The knight hesitated, but the sting of a nettle was not a new feeling for him. How many times had he tried to weed them out of Lyna’s garden with his bare hands, and suffered the consequences? He proceeded then, with caution, to grab the nettle with strength. He was going to do it properly, aiming to feel it whole.

And he did.

The sting broke down his nerves and made him gasp. He closed his eyes and endured the awful sensation, trying not to falter. It reminded him of Lyna, somehow. Of those days in the garden. They were scarce memories now, almost gone and forgotten. Like something that never happened, washed away by the endless sadness of her soon departure.

The feeling eventually faded away, leaving a small hint were the nettle had acted. His right hand was numb, but not enough to completely wash away the tickling pain.

“How does it feel?” the woman asked, after a long pause.

“It was indeed very much painful. But not a strange pain for me, unfortunately.” Kysante had a rash in his hand, a reminder of what happened moments ago. It would fade soon.

“Good. Now, watch closely.”

Urtica placed the pot on a table, to comfortably manipulate the nettle. She did a single loud clap with her hands, like if activating some sort of circulation through her body. A couple of fingers moved in funny ways and forms, heating her skin with her own blood movement within. She danced around the nettle with her hands, touching the very surface of the leaves for a few seconds. And then the plant was moving around with her.

They were dancing.

Urtica was forcing the plant to dance with her.

The breeze that her hands were causing acted like fuel, flowing through the leaves, moving it around like the wind would push the trees in different directions. She was the wind and the plant was being blown.

In that little dance of nature, Urtica used the point of her fingers to touch the stems as the rest of the hands followed the dance. She was petting and rubbing the nettle, but not fully. She was rather playing with it.

It has switched from a dance to a seduction ritual. Kysante could feel how the plant reminded him of his manhood, and the woman looked like someone teasing a man’s desire.

She stopped, suddenly. The nettle looked exactly the same as it was before the dance began. And Urtica had no signs of pain, or redness in her hands. She looked at Kysante right in his eyes, with as much curiosity as he looked at her, and she pointed the herb with her left hand.

So Kysante, naturally, followed her direction. And he used his left hand to touch the nettle again.

Nothing.

The plant was dormant. There was no sting. No pain or discomfort. No burning in his hand, numbness, or even a small rash. It felt like touching a calendula. The smell was delicious, and it could be now perceived thanks to the fact that there was no soreness blinding his senses. It was a mundane herb, but its lack of poison made it magical now. How come a deadly plant, that its contact with skin would cause such discomfort, was now fully nonthreatening?

“How- How did you manage to accomplish this?” Kysante wondered out loud, almost in a accusation tone. Was this woman a witch?

“You know, traveler… sometimes men will not stop to feel what surrounds them. They will crouch and cry of pain if something hurts them. They will run if frightened. And will most likely immediately attack or defend whatever threat challenges them. But have you ever seen a man dance with the enemy?” She was reciting words like a witch now, indeed. Kysante felt the fear growing in his veins.

“I have not done magic on it, if you wonder. All I did, was trick the nettle. I danced with it, making it believe that I was not harmful. My presence became familiar. Our skins rose so often, in quick movements, and we were friends.” Urtica explained. “By action of my dance, I became friends with the nettle, and she decided to not attack me. Now you tell me, traveler, have you ever stopped before an enemy, and chose dance above murder?”

“I can’t recall if I ever made such decision…”

“I can. You have never know anything else but death. Yet you come here, in search of life, when you have taken it away so many times.” The woman flinched, looking at his bag.

“What are you talking about, witch?”

“I know who you are, Kysante. Have you been so naive to believe that I would not know what you have done? I know what is it that you carry with you.”

The knight unsheathed his sword with a swift movement, holding it against the witch.

“How do you know my name?!” He demanded, shaking, uncertain of what he was witnessing.

“Now is the time for you to decide if you wish to call upon death and endure its pain, or dance, and take advantage of the benefits of a nettle.”