Wind has carried smoke and ash west from the battlefield and blocks out the sun. The unit stares at the dismal scene from the elevated treeline, watching enemies retreat and scattered comrades chase down stragglers. They remain behind cover treating their wounds and awaiting orders. The mystic, Mher, perks up, their black eyes squint and searching. After a moment their disappointed resignation returns, and their crossed arms fall to their side.

"Strategist Zury's messenger is meeting us at an old camphor further up the ley line," Mher tells the unit's leader,  Ashford. He hefts the sack onto his shoulders; it's filled with long-term travel necessities that they're forced to lug around due to their tactician's attack and scatter tactics.  Ashford gives a sorrowful glance at the battlefield before returning his attention to his injured comrades.

The largest of their group lies with his right eye completely bandaged and the rest of him battered. "Emmett, can you stand?" He lets out a pained sigh and pushes himself up. Foxyn- their archer who had been tending to him- slides out of his way wincing. Emmett nods vaguely, so  Ashford addresses Mher, "How far is it?"

"It's close. The sun won't have shifted."

 Ashford starts, "Alright, let's-"

"What about DeLuca?" Foxyn interrupts, scornful.

 Ashford swallows, stealing another glance at the field below. "The main unit will move through that area and… pick him up." Foxyn's face twists and nose scrunches up, but he says nothing.

Packing up, they travel northwest following Mher deeper into the woods, away from prying eyes, and find the camphor shortly. Its thick roots roll down the slope to a shaded patch of calf-high grass. Mher, Seton, and Foxyn traverse the terrain with ease while  Ashford and Emmett trudge their way to the bottom. Emmett drops down on a sturdy root and weakly conceals panting. All but Mher cast anxious looks into the woods anticipating an ambush or displaced enemies.

The sun is crawling toward the peak when they hear branches snap at someone’s rapid approach. Hands hover over weapons.

“She’s close,” Mher says dismissively.  Ashford stands at the head of the group, hand resting on his dagger’s hilt, level headed with a cool expression. The padded footfalls come down on them as a massive feline creature leaps down, expertly stopping in front of  Ashford. Atop rides an Alderkin woman, her windblown copper hair and beard riddled with leaves.  Ashford recognizes her from the battle prior; she rides around with papers strapped to a slim saddle tied down by colored tassels.

“Leader  Ashford?” she hops down to speak to him.

“Yes,”  Ashford answers.

“Status.” She pulls an ink bottle and paper from her steed’s side and begins jotting down a report.

 Ashford’s lip quivers. “One dead. One injured requiring a medic’s treatment.”

“You don’t have a medic?” she inquires eyebrows knitting.

“He… died.” She swiftly pulls a white powder from a pouch and slaps it down on the page; she writes over the space ‘1MD’- one medic deceased. The sense of loss renewed for  Ashford, Emmett, and Foxyn, apparent in their movements.

She grabs a bound set of papers with vibrant red tassels, flips through it and says, “Your unit are among the group that are to make your way, independently, through Misthyr to Inveilin to join the back line undetected.” She addresses Mher- an Alderkin like herself. “This point forward you are not to contact anyone by means of the ley line.”

Concern and uncertainty cross Mher’s face, but before they can speak  Ashford says, “But Emmett needs medicine.”

“I’ve been instructed that those past saving are to be left behind while all able-bodied are to meet in Inveilin for a pincer maneuver.” Her expression is unreadable as she looks over Emmett’s condition. “Resources will be available to units that make it to Inveilin.”

“Why no ley line communication?” Foxyn questions.

“Alderkin have joined the foe’s forces and are surveying  all communications across the ley lines. Your unit is to travel undetected so as not to alert them to our plan.”

Conflicted,  Ashford looks to Emmett who affirms, “I can make it.”

She weaves a black, green, and red tassel to the paper she’d been writing on which no longer shows any words and ties it next to another report. She pulls herself back into her saddle and declares, “You have thirty days to reach the rendezvous point.”

As she pulls on the reins, Mher finally finds their voice, “I’m not needed anymore; I should fall back.”

“You’re to remain with your unit… You can be their stand-in medic.” To them alone she offers a quiet, “Good luck.”

Mher’s expression dulls and they reply, “To you as well.”

With a slight tug on the reins the creature dashes forward onto their next mission.  Ashford lets out a taxed exhale, pulls out the knot keeping his hair out of his face then runs his fingers through his hair. “Emmett, get as much rest as you can.” Emmett gives him an accepting nod. “Foxyn, can you set up your maps somewhere, and pick out some potential routes.”

“Yeah… sure,” Foxyn complies though hollow sounding.

“Mher… I’m unfamiliar with most of Alderkin culture and… their magic.”  Ashford searches for the appropriate phrasing. “Are you… able to use magic as a stand-in for our medic,” his voice falls at the end.

Mher suppresses a look of irritation and explains, “The ‘magic’ is not how you’re imagining it. I am able to imbue a sachet or pouch with energies from the ley lines to improve things such as healing for a person.”

“And that requires… flowers and rocks?”  Ashford recognizes his inexperience and wishes to avoid being insensitive.

Unfortunately, Mher appears annoyed but regardless answers, “Yes, it requires flowers and rocks.”

“Okay, could you gather the resources you need to… help heal Emmett?”  Ashford looks to Seton, who hasn’t been inclined to move or help out unless ordered to, and asks, “And could you go along with him to find what he needs and forage for nonperishable food for the road?”

“Them,” Mher corrects apathetically.  Ashford is confused, so Mher says further, “In your language you would use ‘them’ not ‘him’ when you acknowledge me.”

“Oh, okay, can you go with them?”  Ashford asks Seton.

Seton clicks his tongue, “When should we regroup?”

 Ashford thinks it over a moment, “It’s almost midday… I want us to be further north by sunset… Mher, how long do you need?”  Ashford doesn’t want to rush them, but feels a growing pressure to get Emmett to Inveilin as soon as possible.

Light reflects off Mher’s eyes as their gaze pierces the forest. They murmur, “I can find everything I need within five miles… or fitting substitutes.”

“Okay, I’ll have lunch ready by the time you’re back.”

Mher pulls a sprig of juniper from within their robe and passes it to  Ashford. “Boil this if you have a pot to spare.”

“What’s it for?”  Ashford analyzes it.

“It’ll amplify protective energies… or you can use it for tea if it must have a tangible purpose.” Mher shrugs.

“Thanks…” but they slip off without another word. Seton drops excess luggage and follows Mher silently.  Ashford turns his attention to Foxyn poring over his maps, and Emmett, who has already fallen into a deep sleep, lies on his back under the shade of the camphor tree. Seeing that Foxyn needs more time,  Ashford sets up his cooking supplies away from all the overgrowth and puts aside a cup. He begins cooking a simple meal and spends his extra time boiling the juniper in the cup on a separate flame. He can’t shake the underlying tension and enjoy this peaceful scene when the battlefield and DeLuca aren’t even a mile away. He doesn’t let his thoughts stray to DeLuca, choosing to disassociate while methodically over stirring the sprig of juniper.

Meanwhile, Mher follows traces of the sought after energies and collects the ingredients with time to spare. They work in tandem with Seton to locate lasting foragable goods and follow a creek back toward the camphor.

By the time the two return,  Ashford has served up Emmett and Foxyn;  Ashford chews the corner of his lip as Foxyn points at his map. Seton serves himself, but Mher prioritizes speaking with  Ashford. “To make a pouch with healing properties, I will need a location with similar qualities on the ley line.”

“Why don’t you use this spot?” Foxyn doesn’t look up from his map when tossing them the dismissive question.

“I need time to prepare the ritual, and we’ll be leaving this place soon,” Mher answers with tempered irritation.

“Are there areas that you’d suggest?”  Ashford asks.

Mher looks over the map as they say, “We came across a creek during our search; its source is northwest of here. Where are we on this map?” Foxyn points and Mher floats their finger to a thin blue line south of his finger and follows it up across a crease and lands at a pond. “I believe it would be here.”

Foxyn gives a short derisive laugh. “Conveniently ignoring all the tactical routes.”

“I think we should use it as an opportunity to wash,” Seton’s approach had gone unnoticed, but his voice is clear.

“I don’t understand your obsession with bathing,” Foxyn retorts, glancing at the two interfering with his plans.

“I don’t understand your desire to be filthy,” Seton meets Foxyn’s glare with equal measures of disgust.

“You said past this ridge there will be snow?”  Ashford asks Foxyn who nods, suspicious. “We won’t have many opportunities to get clean without risking hypothermia, and this spring is well within Wallard’s territory. We can look for a better route tonight, and make up for the detour by leaving earlier in the morning.” Foxyn grumbles, so  Ashford adds, “I’d rather Emmett’s wounds be cleaned up before crossing over.”

Emmett’s attention is hazily gained and Foxyn relents, “Fine! But I’m going to pick the most efficient route to save time tomorrow.”

“That’d be a great help.”

The unit finish their meals then pack up following Foxyn’s path to the pond arriving as the sun sets. Seton, Emmett, and Foxyn wash off while  Ashford observes Mher’s ritual preparation. The flickering candle stubs dance in Mher’s eyes as they assemble a herb filled sachet on twine.  Ashford and Mher look over Emmett’s unwrapped injuries and Mher provides a basic salve while making no promises.  Ashford and Foxyn help rewrap Emmett, then  Ashford and Mher are left to bathe in minimal light as the other three rest.  Ashford tries to reassure Mher, but they wear a rueful grin.