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~Fridolf's POV
I returned to the hut just as the sky began to darken, tired but restless. I still had a few herbs I'd forgotten to pick earlier, so I gathered them quickly, stuffing the dried leaves and roots into a small brown sack. I didn't sleep much that night. My mind was racing, my heart pounding with the thought of what I would do next.
By dawn, I was already on my feet. The mist was thick, curling low over the path as I made my way back to the palace. The guards didn't stop me, I was known as a supplier for the healers, and I bowed politely as I passed through the gates.
When I entered the clinic, the scent of herbs, ointments, and burning oil filled my nose. Healers were everywhere, moving fast, mixing potions, grinding leaves, and murmuring spells. The head healer, an old man with gray streaks in his hair, stood at the center of it all, giving orders.
