By midday, we'd reached a densely wooded area where the canopy blocked most of the sunlight. The ground grew spongy underfoot, rich with decay and new life.
"Wait." I halted, my attention caught by a cluster of tiny blue mushrooms growing at the base of a fallen log. "Do you see these?"
Redmon paused, looking back. "Fungi. Poisonous."
"Not poisonous," I corrected, kneeling beside them. "These are indigo milk caps. Incredibly rare and valuable for treating respiratory infections." I carefully harvested several, wrapping them in a cloth from my pouch. "We haven't had these in my terramares for years. They're becoming extinct in most regions."
"You know plants well," he observed.
"I'm a healer. Was training to be one, anyway, before..." I gestured vaguely between us. "This happened."
"You still are a healer."
I looked up at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice. "I suppose so. These need to be dried and powdered. Then they can be mixed with honey for coughs, or brewed into a tea for chest infections."
"They work better with river mint," Redmon said casually.
I froze. "What did you say?"
He shifted uncomfortably under my stare. "The blue mushrooms. Better with river mint. Increases the potency."
"How do you know that?" I stood slowly. "That's advanced herbalism. Even some of our most experienced healers don't know that combination."
Redmon looked away. "I listen. Humans talk at trading posts."
"No." I shook my head. "That's specialized knowledge. Not something you'd overhear at a trading post."
His massive shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. "My mother was a healer. Among our kind."
"Your mother taught you human medicine?"
"She traded knowledge with a human healer. Many seasons ago."
I peered at him, seeing him differently now. "You never mentioned this."
"You never asked." He started walking again. "We should move. Still far to go."
As I followed, I wondered what else I didn't know about my reluctant mate.
The terrain grew rougher as afternoon wore on. Redmon grew increasingly alert, his huge head turning at every sound, nostrils flaring to catch scents I couldn't detect.
"Something's wrong," I finally said, noticing how he kept one massive hand near the bone knife at his waist.
"Fanghorn territory ahead." His voice dropped to a low rumble.
"Fanghorn? Another tribe?"
He nodded grimly. "Not friendly. To mapinguari or humans."
My steps faltered. "Should we turn back?"
"The spikethorn plant you need grows there." He pointed to a ridge beyond a small valley. "In those rocks. Nowhere else."
I bit my lip, weighing the risk against the reward. The Elders had been clear, without the spikethorn extract, the fever spreading through the children in my terramares would likely claim more lives.
"We have to try," I decided. "How dangerous are these Fanghorns?"
"Very." His single eye met mine. "Stay close. Do exactly as I say."
