"Where does moonbright grow?" he asks.
"I know where it grows near my cottage."
"Half a day there. Half a day back—"
"A night on the trail." I wipe my forehead with my sleeve. "I know."
"That's not an option."
"Then help me find another one." I finally look at him.
His eye catches mine and—focus on the flowers.
"It grows in old-growth forest. Dense canopy, near water. Shaded ground. There has to be some in this territory—it's massive, and the ecology's right. I just don't know where."
"Someone might know. I'll ask today."
"Today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today." My voice is climbing again. Fantastic. "Because Fenna almost didn't have an hour, Keer. That wound needed twice the paste I gave her. If it had been any deeper, or if she'd bled longer—"
"I understand."
We stare at each other. His arm is close enough that the warmth bleeds through my sleeve. I look away first.
"I'll ask tonight," he says. "If anyone's seen moonbright growing in the territory, I'll know."
"And if they haven't?"
"Then we plan the longer trip."
Ugh. "We."
"The pack needs the paste. You can't go alone."
A night on a trail with him. Sleeping near—bedrolls. Separate bedrolls. Supply list. I need to think about the supply list. Water, bandages, jars, the drying rack is too big to carry so I'd need a frame, a smaller frame, and—
He's watching me. My neck is hot.
"I should check on Fenna." I get my feet under me. "And wash up. And see if Bren's been changing his dressing because last time I checked he was using the same cloth days in a row, which is—actually that's a problem I can solve right now. I can solve that problem. I'll be in the healing area. Come find me when you know."
"Melori."
I stop. Don't turn.
"The child is alive because of you."
"I know."
I walk.
The door of my dwelling is still warm from the afternoon sun when I push it open. The basket from yesterday is on the floor. I sorted them—blue pile, purple pile, yellow—but that's where I stopped. Left them in neat little piles and went to stare at the ceiling and not sleep and make a chicken sweater and think about things I have no business thinking about. They're brown now. Wilted, curling in on themselves, useless.
"Mel."
I spin. Kestria's in the doorway, still favoring her healing side, braids pulled back. She looks at my face and steps inside.
"I heard about Fenna. Dara told me."
"She'ssix."
