Daughter of the Forest

Part 1

Chamomile flowers for upset stomachs and rashes, feverfew leaves to ease fever, milk thistle fruits for liver issues, Valerian roots for sleepless nights, and rosemary to prevent infections. With winter rapidly approaching, I had to ensure I had all the necessities, both for myself and the lost souls who wandered into these forests.

I had secluded myself from humans for seven years now, deep in the darkest part of the forest, where the most violent and bloodthirsty beasts roamed freely. But no one can deny their destiny, and so paths cross when fate offers one last option: to seek the help of a Witch.

In their naivety, they never referred to me as such, for if they had, it would have spelled my doom. Witchcraft was forbidden, and it condemned its practitioners to death. In their eyes, I was a Daughter of the Forest, born from a nymph and an Earth spirit, a presence beyond their comprehension. After all, what kind of witch, in her soiled existence, would aid a mortal?

As I walked through the forest, searching for my missing herbs, I caught a glimpse of a man lying at the base of a tree. He had his knees to his chest and his head covered with his arms. His expression, although he was unconscious, bore a painful grimace. Was he hiding? It seemed as if he struggled to appear as small as possible, although his size rendered the effort futile. The open wound on the side of his torso didn't appear to be from a beast, but rather human. They had hunted one of their own again, but this time, it seemed like a failed attempt. He was still alive, but in that condition, and in that place, it would only be a brief inconvenience.

There was nothing I could do, or so I told myself. The man was more dead than alive, and if, by any chance, those who had left him in this state returned to finish what they had started, it would only bring trouble for me. I had no intention of needlessly endangering myself. I was on the brink of letting nature take its course and allowing the wild creatures to feast on the soon-to-be corpse when he suddenly grabbed my ankle.

"Help me," the man's feeble voice barely audible. "Please, help me," he repeated before losing consciousness again and releasing his grip.

Despite his dire state, he had a firm grip, and to be able to speak... Who would've thought he still possessed such a strong will to live? I couldn't ignore him any longer. I brought him back to my hut, tore his clothes apart, and meticulously tended to his wounds. With a potent tincture, the right spell, and clean bandages, my work was done. Now he had to display the same desire to live as he had in the forest and survive the night, if he could.

That night, sleep eluded me. I checked on him repeatedly, wiping his sweat and offering water as he battled a raging fever. Something about him troubled me, more than just a nagging feeling. It was a strange blend of fear, recognition, and excitement, yet I had never encountered this man before in my life. Though, with his face battered and swollen, it was difficult to determine.

With a sudden grunt, his arms shot into the air, the abrupt movement reopening his wound. Blood seeped through his bandages as he fought an unseen adversary, his eyes tightly shut, face twisted in agony.

"How dare you betray me?" he shouted, and I jumped back before he could accidentally strike me in his struggle. "You will pay for it! I swear on my name!" With that, his body went limp, descending once more into a deep sleep. Whatever he had endured, it had left a profound scar, one that didn't bleed.

Rolling up my sleeves, I carefully unfastened his bleeding wound and applied pressure, uttering words known only to me. If he continued to bleed, not even my magic could save him. Fortunately, the bleeding stopped shortly, much to my relief. I then gently cleansed the area with a cold herb broth, which, while far from having an enchanting aroma, worked wonders in preventing infections. Moreover, a wound of that size needed all the support it could get to heal properly and swiftly.

With everything clean, dry, and with fresh bandages in place, I wiped the sweat from his skin once more. The fever appeared to be gradually subsiding, but any sudden movements that could reopen his wounds would pose a problem.

Getting rid of bodies was hardly my favourite pastime.

Reaching for a bundle of dried herbs hanging from the wall, I selected a small twig of valerian and dropped it into the steaming water on the stove. It only took a few minutes for the infusion to be ready. Lifting the man's head, I made him drink it all.

To my surprise, he didn't resist but instead gulped it down within seconds. Well, at least that would keep him deeply asleep.

By the following morning, he already looked better, with the edges of his bruises fading. Two more days passed, during which his swollen face almost returned to normal, his wound closed at a steady pace, and on the following evening, he regained his senses.

He glanced around, startled at first, then furrowing his brows in confusion. Groaning, he moved his hand to the side, but instead of an open wound, his fingers brushed against the neat bindings. I kept observing him from the darkest corner of my little hut, hidden by a shelf full of jars. His eyes roamed around the room, from the crackling stove to the wooden table with a solitary chair, sweeping every single corner in sight, up to the low ceiling beams. Struggling onto his elbows, he tried to raise himself, grimacing and wincing as soon as he tensed his muscles. I rushed out from my hiding place like a storm, startling him, and pushing him gently by his shoulders, I shook my head discouraging him from moving.

His eyes widened, and he gazed at me, a hint of relief in his expression. "Are you the one who saved me?"