The morning caravan assembled outside the northern palisade before the sunrise touched the jagged mountain crests.
Vella adjusted the straps on the supply wagon, checking the stoppered ceramic vials inside her wicker hampers.
"Farming families cannot abandon their plots for two full days just to walk down to our clinic," she pointed out, tightening a hemp knot. "If we bring the salves directly to their doors, we treat twenty cases before the autumn chills turn into lung rot."
"Load the salt first," Hajin instructed, hoisting two heavy burlap sacks onto the tailgate with practiced ease. "Salt buys more goodwill in the outer hamlets than a wagon full of minted coins."
Ash sat nestled inside a padded chest harness against his father's collarbone, chewing cheerfully on a dried mountain apple.
The infant kicked his heels against the harness leather, humming softly while his bright eyes tracked every bustling laborer.
