The town was small, consisting of brick-and-wood houses clustered around one main road. It was a passing stop for travelers, Nafan could tell, and not a full-size village with many farms. Outside, in the cool morning air, vendors were setting up their stalls for the day. They were relaxed and worked leisurely, chatting and eating breakfast at the same time.

He passed by one restaurant – the door was open, and he could smell the steamy aroma of various dim sum wafting from the inside. His stomach growled, but Nafan didn’t dare enter – there was a soldier’s wagon parked outside. Instead, he breathed in the intoxicating aroma and turned away, rubbing his stomach dejectedly.

A couple more minutes down the road led him to a vendor selling roasted peanuts. Breathing in the crisp, almost meat-like aroma with a gusty sigh of pleasure, Nafan strode quickly over and pulled out a couple coins.

“Good morning,” he said brightly, in a good mood with food around.

The woman behind the stand looked up and nearly dropped the fan that she had been diligently cooling the nuts with earlier.

“Oh, careful. Sorry, did I startle you?” Nafan asked hastily and tried to extend a helping hand, only to stop when he saw fear flash over her face. Smile twisting with forlorn, he withdrew his hands into his robes and hunched over, instinctively trying to shrink his big body.

“Yes, you bastard!” The woman pat her chest and gasped dramatically. “You should do something about your appearance before you give someone a heart attack!”

“Sorry miss, I’ll be more careful.” He tried to sound earnest, but Nafan couldn’t entirely hide the sadness in his voice. Oh well, nobody could be friends with everybody, nevermind someone like him… he should just focus on what he had come for. Those peanuts smelled really good.

Dropping a few coins into her ceramic bowl, Nafan gestured at the peanuts.

“May I have a bag?”

“Yes yes, take it and shoo.” The woman shoved the freshly-prepared bag unceremoniously into his chest. “Don’t hang around my stall, it’s bad for business.”

“Of course. Thank you!” Flashing her a warm smile, Nafan took the hot paper bag and quickly left. Steam rose into his face, brightening his mood and making him grin as he strolled down the road. He hadn’t had roasted peanuts in a while… they had been his mother’s favorite snack.

There were other vendors along the road, but Nafan didn’t see any permanent shops. As he neared the end of the road, Nafan began to feel a little apprehensive. This town was small… maybe they didn’t have a doctor?

His immediate next thought – maybe I can be their doctor – abruptly faded when he walked by a particularly bulky storage house. Hidden within its neighbour’s shadow was a tiny cottage. Its doors were open, woven buckets filled with medicinal ingredients were laid out in front of it.

Half relieved, half disappointed, Nafan stuffed the last handful of peanuts in his mouth and veered towards the building. The bitter, dusty musk of ingredients rushed through his senses as he stepped inside, and Nafan couldn’t help but smile as he breathed in the nostalgic scent. Many people considered it unpleasant, but to him, this was the smell of home.

Looking around, Nafan searched for the resident. Within the tiny cottage, there were two rows of tables on the left, a counter at the far end, and a several more woven baskets scattered to the right. From the ceiling, he could spot strung-up ingredients, but there were only a few. It didn’t look like there was anybody here.

“… Hello?” Nafan called out tentatively. His wound twitched, perhaps twinging in response to the scent of medicine, and he winced as his hand twitched towards it.

“Hey.”

A raspy male voice replied. Startled, Nafan looked around again, but he still didn’t see anyone.

“Uh…” A little uncertainly, Nafan took a couple more steps in.

“I’m down here, boy.”

Looking down, Nafan realized with a start that there was a man sitting on the floor between two of the woven baskets, almost right in front of him. The man was elderly and gaunt, with thin grey facial hair lining his chin and a healthy head of long greying hair, currently tied back. He was eating rice and boiled vegetables out of a small ceramic bowl, and he was staring at Nafan with blatant curiosity.

“Oh… sorry. Are you not open yet?” Nafan glanced back at the door.

“If you’re going to buy something then I’m always open.” The elderly man’s chuckle was muffled as he chewed his food at the same time. “What do you need? I can help you if you’re sick or injured, but if you’re looking to be exorcised then you’d best find a temple instead.” He spoke quite seriously, so Nafan couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not.

“Aha… I’m injured. It’s not a serious wound,” Nafan added hastily when he saw concern flicker through the man’s gaze. Reaching up, he tapped his chest. “I was stabbed, but only the tip of the blade grazed my skin.”

“Mm.” The man got up, nodding earnestly but unable to speak around his full mouth. He limped over to one of the tables and set his bowl down. Then he swallowed with a gulp and started speaking briskly as he pulled open one drawer and took out a jar of crusty yellowish solid. “Here, honey for preventing infection –”

 “No,” Nafan interrupted, before he could stop himself. Instantly met with a questioning gaze, he smiled and shook his head. “I prefer something less messy. Do you have dried mushrooms?”

The elder paused, his eyes narrowing as he almost glared at Nafan for a long while. Then, slowly, he nodded and pulled out another drawer, where he grabbed a handful of powdery dried common mushrooms and put them on the table.

“And turpentine oil for pain relief,” Nafan continued, giving the man a rather encouraging nod.

Wordlessly, the elder searched through another drawer and put a small vial of dark-coloured oil beside the mushrooms. “Anything else?” he then said in a dry voice, eyeing Nafan with a less friendly look.

“Yes,” Nafan grinned, already in his element as he continued to list. “Sicklewort, lotus, boswellia, and narrow-leafed cattail.”

The elder, who had at first complied and started searching, stopped after ‘lotus’ and gave him a rather exasperated look. “All of that just for a small cut? I’m telling you, honey will be enough.”

“I have money,” Nafan offered, pulling out his chain of silver coins.

The elder sighed heavily and continued searching. It took longer this time, and after a while he heard the man’s muffled voice speak up from behind the table.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Yes,” Nafan said, pleased to be acknowledged for once.

“Why do you need all this stuff?” the man asked wearily. His hand dropped a small chunk of dried sicklewort next to the turpentine oil, then disappeared again.

“You combine those four things to make an ointment,” Nafan explained, leaning over the table to examine the ingredients contently. “It’s very useful for many things. Numbing pain, healing wounds, reducing inflammation… I’m going to be travelling for a while so I thought it would be useful to make.”

“Oh? Never heard of it,” the man grunted in obvious disbelief as he got up with a stiff grunt and put two more ingredients on the table. “I don’t have lotus. I usually get it fresh but I just sold out yesterday – restaurant bought the entire stock for soup. They had a big crowd, apparently.”

“Where can I get some?” Nafan asked, sliding a couple of his silver coins over the counter as the man started to wrap up his herbs in paper.

“There’s a pond just south of here, it’s not far. That’s where I usually get mine.” The man handed Nafan the parchment-rolled goods and grunted in appreciation as he took the coins.

“Thank you.” Nafan beamed, excited as always to be handed parcels of shiny new herbs.

“Uh-huh. You’re a young and strange-looking doctor, you know,” the elder said warily, though he lifted a hand in a friendly gesture of goodbye. “Stay out of trouble, boy.”

“Yes, sir,” Nafan called over his shoulder with a brief laugh as he stepped out of the building.

Outside, the sun had finally risen above the trees and the road was lit with splotches of warm light. The scent of food had become stronger, too – he could smell the roasted nuts from here now, and Nafan pulled out his bag of peanuts to contently munch on as he headed south.

The main road ended abruptly once he passed the last house, but Nafan spotted a rough trail of flattened grass leading further into the forest. He followed it at a leisurely pace, eating and thinking about how to best spend his extra day of rest. To make his herbal ointment, he’d need some tools… hopefully Da Shan would let him borrow the kitchen, or at least lend him some baskets. The mushrooms he’d need to soak, and the ointment would require some more effort, but at least the turpentine oil was ready for use. It would give him some quick relief from the stinging discomfort of his wound.

After about fifteen minutes, the undergrowth became thick and lush. The trail of flattened grass was pretty much gone by now, and Nafan’s footsteps slowed in uncertainty. How big was the pond supposed to be, anyway…? What if he’d missed it…? A slow stream of worries started trickling into his head, but before Nafan could freak himself out too much, he put his foot down and heard a loud, wet, squelch.

Alarmed, he glanced down and lifted his foot to see water seeping into the flattened grass where his foot had been. Then, re-energized with a surge of relief, Nafan poured the rest of the peanuts into his mouth, crunched up the paper bag, and walked briskly forward.

There was a slight downhill slope leading to the pond. From here, it looked like a large puddle of dark water, dotted with lily-pads, lotus flowers, and cattails. The air was thick with a scent that was both sweet and stale, and the forest was noisy with the chirping of birds and frogs. As Nafan picked his way closer, he spotted a darker figure bundled up in the grass on the opposite bank. He tensed, mistaking it for some large animal at first – but as the clouds shifted and sunlight swept briefly through the thin canopy, he realized it was a young man lying on their back.

… Khyriel.

It couldn’t be anyone else. Sighing musingly, Nafan made his way down the slope. There was a perfect patch of lotus near the water’s edge and he stopped to pluck a few first, storing them in his empty peanut bag. Then, once he felt he had enough, he got up and made his way to the other side of the pond.

Khyriel had changed back into his lycan clothes and was dozing on a firm patch of grass near the waters edge. He seemed to be quite deeply asleep – even at the sound of Nafan’s squelching footsteps, he didn’t stir.

He must be really tired.

Smiling forlornly, Nafan squat down and admired the lycan’s pretty face.

 It sounded like he had a pretty rough night.

There was something about Khyriel’s sleeping expression that made him look less than peaceful. His brows were slightly furrowed, and his lips twisted down slightly. As Nafan leaned closer for a better look, the young lycan’s eyelids fluttered and he parted his fangs with a quiet snarl.

Dreaming?

Nafan tilted his head and chuckled quietly to himself. He lifted his hand, then hesitated, fingers trembling uncertainly in the air – but then the lycan twitched and uttered a muffled, indignant-sounding little yip, and with a quiet chuckle, Nafan mustered the courage to touch him.

He brushed the young man’s dark bangs gently out of his face, then pressed his palm against Khyriel’s cool cheek and gave it a few pats.

“Hey. Khyriel.”

The lycan’s brows furrowed, but instead of waking, he rolled away and continued snoozing stubbornly. He was laying on his stomach now, legs spread comfortably and arms bent underneath his chest in a rather animal-like pose. His dark garments had also climbed haphazardly up along his thighs, and Nafan felt his smile twist with forlorn as he inevitably cast them a distracted glance.

“Wake up, let me look at your wounds.” He tried again, calling out gently to the young beast. Now that he had supplies from the village, he felt like he ought to care for them properly.

 Khyriel didn’t move, but Nafan could tell that the lycan had woken up. His breathing had grown shallow and quiet, and his back had stiffened.

Sighing wearily, Nafan sat back in the grass and took out his vial of oil. He jingled it in the air for Khyriel to hear and said, “It must sting, right? This will numb the pain and make sure your cuts don’t get infected. It’s a sensitive place, if you don’t take care of it, you could die.”

Khyriel kept up his act for a long time, but Nafan waited patiently. It was a nice day, sunny, but shadowed by moving clouds, and though the pond had a bit of a murky scent to it, the scenery was pleasant. He was quite content simply sitting there, basking in the breeze and the subtle companionship of his new lycan friend.

Eventually, Khyriel gave in. The young lycan’s body heaved in an exasperated sigh, and though he didn’t move, he mustered an irritable grumble.

“… Who cares if I die?”

Nafan frowned.

“I do.”

Khyriel scoffed. But after a few more seconds of stubborn silence, the young man sighed and burrowed his head in his arms.

“… Do whatever you want.”