Chapter 1

Greenby was a small town with a large transient population. Most of the people who lived in the town proper were long-time settlers who worked the fields or owned businesses essential to the community. However, the town's major source of income came from travelers passing through on the inter-country road.

The road was a major trade route that connected the capital city of Nayen Harbor with the northernmost city of Bolanda. Bolanda was located on the border with Lamicel, a country that was technically an ally of Murinsbad, but which often had disputes along the border.

Greenby was an important stop along the road because it was halfway between Nayen Harbor and Bolanda. The town also had a number of amenities that travelers appreciated, such as inns, stables, shops, and even a few brothels. As a result, Greenby was a busy town, even though it didn't have a large permanent population.

The mayor of Greenby, Mr. Ansong, once took Harlow around the town when he was younger. He gave Harlow the opportunity to tag along and take down information for him. Harlow could tell that the mayor mostly wanted to avoid doing all the math and writing on his own, but Harlow was getting paid, so he didn't mind.

As they talked to each of the local people, Mr. Ansong described the importance of the town. They asked simple questions about their families and incomes.

Mr. Ansong called this a census, and it was the mayor's responsibility to take it every two years. He sent the results to the king for taxation purposes. This was several years ago now, and Harlow had learned that many of the people of Greenby tended not to stay long.

He also learned that the locals preferred to stick to themselves and considered the people who moved here as "transient," even if they had lived here for years. It wasn't until their descendants were born and raised here that they would achieve the title of "local."

At that time, there had been 247 local people, including Harlow and the mayor. Through the following years, new families had moved in, which increased the total population, but they were never considered locals.

The town's local population was going to decrease by one soon, though. The elderly, yet always friendly Mrs. Halan Elennesta, or Granny as she preferred people to call her, lay deathly sick in her bed.

As Harlow arrived at the clinic that morning, Mr. Haramin, the town physician, was busily loading things into his large black medicine bag.

"Harlow, it's good to see you, boy," the physician said as Harlow walked in the door. "We're needed at Lady Elennesta's residence this morning. Her health has taken a turn for the worse."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harlow began, but was cut off.

"Fetch the bag," the large man said in a hurried tone. "I have two more tinctures to place in there, then we're off."

Harlow moved into the examination room and hefted the large bag into his arms. He had been carrying this bag for over two years now, but it still seemed heavy to him. He thought that the more he carried it, the lighter it would seem, but it seemed as though the bag had grown at a scale to his own growth. He often wondered if his mentor, Mr. Haramin, added extra weight to the bag to keep the weight proportional to his strength, but he could never prove it.

Mr. Haramin moved around the door and placed two tinctures in the bag, then closed the top with a snap of the latch. Without pausing or telling Harlow what to do next, he moved out of the room and opened the door.

The physician was a man of few words. He expected Harlow to understand what was needed and what to be done without having to be told. Harlow had caught on to his style of management rather quickly, and while he might prefer a more interactive employer, he was happy for the knowledge and resources Mr. Haramin bestowed upon him.

Harlow rushed to the door and nodded his thanks before passing through. He stopped just outside and let the physician take the lead. He knew where Granny lived, but knew it would be inappropriate for him to walk in front of his mentor, so he waited until he moved past.

They made their way two blocks west and one block north to where Granny lived. This was one of the heaviest population centers within the walls. It was the district where the middle-to-lower class lived.

The people here were generally merchants or tradesmen. The structures were moderate but sturdy, and were often accentuated with flowers or pops of color from painted shutters or decorations. Many of the women of the area stayed home with children or were busy baking goods to sell along the main road during midday.

Granny's house was one of the few that showed signs of wear and tear. It was understandable, seeing as she was over 90 years old. Her body just wasn't up to the physical demands any longer.

Her husband had passed away several years ago, and she lived alone. They had never had children of their own. However, she was fond of interacting with the children of the town. She was famous for handing out a special candy she called segoon drops. The sweet, citrus-flavored hard candy was something she made herself.

As they neared the house, Mr. Haramin stopped and turned to Harlow. "This day will not be pleasant," he said. "But there are lessons you need to learn here. You will accompany me inside and we will not leave until things are finished. Understood?"

Harlow nodded. He wasn't quite sure what his mentor meant, but he could feel the seriousness in his voice. He decided that it would be best to keep his eyes and ears open. If there was something here he needed to learn, he meant to learn it.

The large man nodded with acknowledgement and moved forward to the door. He tapped lightly, but let himself in without waiting for a response. He moved inside and held the door for Harlow and the large black bag he carried.

Harlow moved inside and found a spot where he hoped he would be out of the way. Mr. Haramin gently closed the door and moved inside. A gentleman whom Harlow had never seen before waited in the hallway of the house.

"Mr. Haramin, thank you for coming so quickly. I have been checking on her every morning lately. This morning there was no response, so I came in and found her like this," the man said. He directed the larger physician into a bedroom.

Harlow stayed back a moment while the two older men talked. He had been in this house several times lately and knew the layout fairly well now. The living room where he stood was decorated with yellowing paintings on the walls. Two large wingback chairs stood to either side of the fireplace, which was cold and empty now, just like this house.

At a wave of Mr. Haramin's hand, Harlow stepped into the doorway, holding the bag, and tried to remain silent. He couldn't see much past the two men standing in front of the bed, but he could smell the unmistakable scent of the death.

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Having a large and wide canine snout like most Canursids did in this region, his sense of smell was heightened. There was a smell of death in this house. It wasn’t the smell of something dead, but of something dying. He didn’t need to see the old woman lying on the bed to understand she was not going to be here much longer.

A large hand stretched out to his side and Mr. Haramin spoke. “I need Wanetta.”

Harlow understood and moved into the room. He set the bag on the floor and reached inside. Wanetta was a small green twig-like herb. When bitten into, it released a powerful pain reliever.

He reached inside the large black bag and pulled a bottle of the twigs from a bracket which was affixed to the side of the bag. He opened the bottle and placed it into the large outstretched hand. As he did, he made sure to touch the fingers of his mentor.

It was a simple gesture, and he wasn't completely sure why he did it. But it had become his ritual when handing things to Mr. Haramin. He didn't do it with any other people, in fact, he mostly avoided touching people in general.

But with Mr. Haramin, it was different. He felt a sense of connection with his mentor, and he wanted to show that in some way. He didn't know if Mr. Haramin even noticed, but it made him feel better. It was a way of showing his respect and gratitude to this man which he looked up to. Mr. Haramin had become the model for what Harlow intended to become.

The physician removed a sprig of Wanetta and bit into it. He crunched down a few times, then moved the now-chewed herb to the old lady's mouth. He tucked it under her lip and closed her mouth.

"I will do what I can, but you may want to gather anyone who would want to see her one last time," he spoke as he did so.

The man nodded and left without a glance at Harlow. Mr. Haramin looked around the room and spied a chair. He grabbed it and moved it to the bedside. He looked at Harlow and started naming different tinctures and medications for him to retrieve.

This was the main part of Harlow's job. He had learned the names and uses of most of the medicines Mr. Haramin used. He arranged the medicine bag and knew exactly where everything went.

Unfortunately, on this day his job was also to stand by and watch Mr. Haramin do what little he could to ease the suffering of the kindly old woman. Granny was well beyond being healed. Harlow knew that as well as the physician. Her body had finally given up.

Really, all Mr. Haramin could do now was to provide comfort until the end. The large man sat at her bedside and stroked Granny's hair back from her sunken face. He whispered to her of times past and how the people here would continue on but would always remember her.

Through the morning hours, several people came in and offered their respects and goodbyes. Through it all, Mr. Haramin directed them. He offered his seat to the older people. He walked with the people whose eyes were too full of tears to see clearly.

He was more than a doctor in this instance; he was the last contact. He did his best not to treat the wounds being made here, but to mitigate the pain. He talked to the people, telling them that she could hear them, but could no longer feel the sting of death.

Harlow watched and learned. He had never seen his mentor act in this capacity before. His face held empathy but no fear or sadness. His words were soothing and his actions allowed people to grieve in their own way.

Finally, there was a break. Mrs. Elennestra's friends had said what they needed to say and were off to grieve with their own loved ones. Through it all, Granny breathed raggedly but steadily. Mr. Haramin had frequently stopped to listen to her heart and breathing. He touched her wrist to feel her pulse and monitored the drugs which he fed her.

Finally, the last of the people had visited, and Harlow witnessed an incredible occurrence. Something he never thought he would see: his mentor, the man who had taken this entire day in stride and had been the strength to so many, drooped his head down. Harlow witnessed as the tears began to run down his cheeks. Gentle sobs jumped in his chest.

Harlow secretly wished that Mr. Haramin would tell him to go fetch something, but in his heart he knew that the time for fetching was over. The time for healing had passed.

The tincture of Elena flower and Greywood bark that Mr. Haramin had given her allowed her to sleep. The sprig of Wenetta under Granny's tongue eased her pain. Now, with her friends gone and only Harlow and his mentor as company, her breathing grew more ragged and shallow.

With a final crackle and exhalation, Halan Elennestra stopped breathing completely. Mr. Haramin laid a finger on Granny's neck to check for a heartbeat. When he felt none, he laid her hands across her chest and pulled the covering up over her head.

Harlow watched as his mentor closed Granny's eyes. He knew that this was the end, and he felt a wave of sadness wash over him. He had grown to care for Granny over the years, and he would miss her dearly.

This was the first time Harlow had been around to watch someone die. He understood what death meant intellectually, but to witness it firsthand was something entirely different. He had been employed by Mr. Haramin for over two and a half years and had assisted him in many different procedures. He knew how to set bones, apply poultices, and even mix rudimentary potions, but when the end came, there was nothing a physician could do other than be there for the patient.

Harlow felt that this was what Mr. Haramin had mentioned earlier. An impossible lesson to teach, but one every physician had to learn. He hadn't understood earlier, but now as he watched the elderly woman take her final breaths and the tears run freely down Mr. Haramin's face, he felt he was beginning to understand.

This was part of being a physician. The wondrous things that a physician could do to heal and save people's lives eventually ended with their helplessness at the end of life. All of the care given, all of the years knowing a person and their struggles, all of the memories and knowledge gained from the patient—it all ended with their eventual death.

But even in the face of death, a physician could still offer comfort and compassion. They could be a witness to the patient's final moments, and they could help the family and friends to grieve. This was the true gift of being a physician.

A short but strong arm reached out to Harlow, the hand gently beckoning him forward. He wasn't completely sure if he could trust himself, but accepted the invitation nonetheless. He stepped into the physician's embrace. His mind let go. Thoughts of his current situation replayed themselves as he buried his head in the gentle man's chest and sobbed.

He and the physician had a simple but good relationship. Mr. Haramin was in charge, and Harlow did as he was told. In return, Harlow earned some money and was learning to be a physician. He would be able to get a good recommendation from Mr. Haramin when the time came for him to seek proper education, and that meant a great deal to the people who admitted students into universities.

For Mr. Haramin, having Harlow as his apprentice meant having someone near him to talk to and to help him with his work. It also meant that he could retrieve things faster, which allowed him to heal people better. Additionally, Harlow was a sounding board for Mr. Haramin, and he enjoyed Harlow's company and assistance. Mr. Haramin was a lonely man who had never mated, and he appreciated Harlow's presence in his life.

At the end of each day, when Harlow walked home, he wished that Mr. Haramin was his father. He wished that he could wake up to a warm smile and a kind word, rather than the cold silence and empty bottle that awaited him at home. He wished that he could feel the love and support of a father, rather than the neglect and indifference that he had always known.

Every morning, Harlow rose early and left without saying a word to his father, Brodil. He didn't want to see the mess that Brodil had made of himself the night before. He knew that he would get a warm greeting from Mr. Haramin, and that was much preferable.

Harlow spent as little time as possible at his house. When he did encounter Brodil, he often ended up taking care of him in some disgusting way. The other possibility was worse: he would be forced to watch Brodil break down and cry about the past and his dead wife, Dinaya.

Sometimes, Harlow would suffer verbal abuse from Brodil, who lately liked to yell at him. In Brodil's eyes, Harlow was the bad guy, the one who "took away" his dear Dinaya.

Harlow could never understand how his father had arrived at this conclusion, but he took the abuse as stoically as possible, knowing he would be able to deal with it until he could leave. He had found the job he wanted and a mentor who taught him well, and that was all that mattered.

Mr. Haramin spoke to Harlow through his own sobs. "Yes, Harlow, it's better to let these emotions out," he croaked. His tears hit the top of Harlow's head, wetting the fur there. "Death is a part of life, but those who remain to live on are the ones who have to deal with the pain."

Harlow nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't trust his voice to work. He rarely saw his mentor display emotions; he had told Harlow early on, "Emotions can cause mistakes, mistakes can cause harm."

Harlow had tried his best to understand and temper his emotions as Mr. Haramin did. But now, to see and feel this man's emotions manifest so strongly was heart-wrenching. Harlow knew that Mr. Haramin's emotions never truly went away. They stayed bottled inside until an appropriate time to be released.

The circumstances were correct now, and Harlow let go of all the pent-up emotions built up inside him as well. He sobbed for the loss of this kind woman, but more for his own life. The release of emotions allowed the frustration and anger he locked away to manifest in his tears.

The two sobbed for several minutes, the catharsis of openly crying, especially with someone trusted who could share in the ugliness and raw display of emotions, brought the two closer.

As the tears ebbed and the sobs slowed, snot and tears stained both of their clothes and fur. Mr. Haramin wiped his face clean with a rag he held inside his robe. The act was a symbol to both himself and to Harlow that the time for emotions was ending and the time for work was renewing.

Before Mr. Haramin could find another handkerchief to offer him, Harlow had sniffled and wiped his nose on his forearm. He knew this wasn't sanitary, but couldn't find anywhere better to clean his nose.

Mr. Haramin watched as the young man smeared snot down his arm and dabbed at his nose with his collar. The sight brought a smile to the physician's mouth. "I think we will both need a bath after this to wash off the boogers," he chuckled.

Harlow felt his chest heave with its own small bit of laughter. He realized the sensation felt an awful lot like sobbing, and it brought with it the familiar tightness he had just gotten over.

He still didn't trust himself to speak, so he began gathering up the instruments and vials that the physician had used. He returned them to their spot in the large black medicine bag.

Mr. Haramin stood up and nodded at Harlow in appreciation. He brushed off the front of his clothes, trying to remove some of the wetness and wrinkles. Then, he turned to the door.

"Once you have everything gathered, take the bag back to the clinic and draw up a bath. I'll be there shortly," he said. His face returned to its normal, emotionless facade.

"Y-yes, sir," Harlow stammered. He watched as the physician went outside and began speaking with the townsfolk gathered around. Harlow finished packing the bag and hefted it over his shoulder. He wasted no time exiting the house and avoiding the other people. His nerves were still raw, and he really just wanted to be alone and sort out his feelings.