Grandmother crossed her arms, and Lyra squirmed under her disapproval.
“Comfrey,” Dyna whispered to her, winking.
“It’s comfrey!”
Grandmother Leyla gave them a stern frown. “Learn their differences, Lyra, or you will have grave results should you mistake the two. Foxglove is poisonous.”
Lyra winced. “Oh.”
“She’s learning,” Dyna murmured. “It took me some time to learn the difference, Grandmother.”
Grandmother Leyla arched a brow and Dyna smiled sheepishly. “Comfrey is medicinal. Do you know its use?”
Her little sister dithered on the answer. Dyna caught her eye and subtly rubbed the scar on her elbow. She had earned it three seasons ago when she fell on a sharp rock and cut her elbow straight to the bone.
“Skin and bone repair,” Lyra replied with a victorious smile as she bounced on her toes, her cloak and dress flaring. Dyna stifled a giggle.
“Yes, it is also known as knitbone, which makes it easier to remember.” Grandmother Leyla pointed to another tall spindly plant with dark purple petals. “And this one?”
“That one is easy,” Lyra piped up. “It’s wolfsbane. Very poisonous.”
“But it can also treat fevers if you’re careful,” Dyna said with a frown. “It shouldn’t be left out here to cause trouble.”
Seeing it reminded her she needed more wolfsbane extract for Zev. She prayed he managed well until they could meet again.
She pulled the poisonous plant from its roots and wrapped it in a cloth taken from the pocket of her olive cloak. A gentle whoosh of energy settled over her as its magic worked to keep her warm despite the brisk breeze. The cloak was old; the fabric frayed and faded, but the runes embroidered onto the ornamental hem maintained their power even after two centuries.
She brushed a finger over the rune with an inverted triangle. The last time her father had worn the cloak, he pointed to each rune, testing how many she and Thane had memorized.
The squelch of wagon wheels in the mud and the bustle of people drew her attention back to the road. More villagers had joined them, and the crowd only grew as they passed an intersection splitting from the north and south of the village.
Farmer Wendell marched down the road with his family, his face set in a stern glower. The large and burly man towered over his petite wife, Fleur. Her feet moved swiftly beneath her muddled brown dress to keep up with his long stride as she carried their baby daughter in her arms. Their eldest child, Wren, playfully tugged on Lyra’s braid. She snatched his cap, and they ran off together into the fields alongside the path, laughing and chasing each other.
“Don’t go too far,” Dyna called after her.
Lyra and Wren joined the other playing children, so bright and innocent.
A filling meal.
She banished the horrid thought to the pits of her mind, burying it beneath the mountain of fears and nightmares. Roiling black clouds and writhing lightning shrouded the precipice. She climbed the mountain in her dreams, digging her fingers in the wet earth, toes pushing off stacked skulls for the top—but she always fell before she reached it.
“Good day to you,” Grandmother Leyla nodded to Wendell and his wife as they approached.
The glowering farmer merely grunted in response.
Fleur offered a kind smile and brushed the loose locks of blonde hair from her face. “Good day, Leyla, Miss Dynalya.”
Dyna smiled. “Good day.”
“Are you off to see the council as well?”
“Along with every other villager, it seems,” Leyla replied.
Wendell grated, “The only way to get a fire under their arses is if we all beat down on their door.”
“I am sure they are doing their best, love,” Fleur told him, giving Leyla and Dyna an apologetic grimace.
It mildly comforted Dyna to know others at last worried about the Shadow. Her father had not been so fortunate.
