My pen scratched across my notebook, recording every word.
“How long is it between a loss of appetite and the loss of the ability to shift?”
“It varies. A couple of weeks, maybe a month.”
“Is there any pattern to who it affects? Such as age, gender, or position in the pack hierarchy?”
“Adults.” She frowned. “I’ve never seen it in a pup.” She resumed kneading, pounding, and folding the dough. “There’s no other pattern I can see. It affects strong wolves, weak wolves, male, and female. Details like that don’t seem to matter.”
I nodded, my mind already working through possibilities. Could it be an environmental trigger? I doubted a contagion, or the pups would show symptoms as well.
Something affecting only fully developed wolves. Very interesting.
Acorn had hopped up onto another counter and was creeping toward a bowl of nuts and dried fruit.
Helen lifted a knife and tossed it his way. A thunk rang out when it hit the wooden wall beside him. “That rodent of yours is trying to steal my ingredients.”
“Acorn,” I huffed.
He froze, a walnut clutched in his tiny paws.What’s thine is mine, and mine is mine. This is simply the squirrel divine. Hoarding food is nature’s call, redistribution serves us all.
I sighed. “He says it’s redistribution.”
“It’s theft.”
“I apologize. He has poor impulse control.”
Helen made a noise that might’ve been a laugh, though her expression didn’t change one bit. Acorn leaped off the counter and scampered over to climb up to my shoulder, the walnut still clutched in his incisors.
“What sort of treatment are you using for those impacted by the shifting problem?” I asked.
“Silverleaf. It helps with the weakness.”
I scanned the prep area, noting the herbs hanging to dry near the fire, the various pots simmering. A bundle of silverleaf, tied with twine, sat beside what looked like medicinal supplies.
“And how do you prepare it?”
“We dry it. Steep it in a tea.”
“With anything else?”
“No, why would we?”
“Oh. Hmm.” I slid off the stool and walked over to the bundles, leaning close to examine the leaves. They’d beenharvested too early, before the compounds fully developed, though that would only make the brew weaker. It wouldn’t cause harm. “Silverleaf only aids with physical weakness if it’s combined with yarrow root to activate the restorative properties. On its own like this, it’s just making them more tired.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”
“I’m an apothecary researcher. It’s my specialty.” I pulled a small vial from my pocket. I kept basic ingredients on me out of habit. I placed it on the counter beside her mounds of dough. “Yarrow extract. Two drops per cup of silverleaf tea, steeped for exactly four minutes. You’ll see improvement within a day.”
After placing my plate in the sink, I turned and walked out before she could say anything else, my notebook still hovering beside me as the pen continued transcribing my observations.
Helen’s stare followed me into the hall.
Climbing the rest of the way down to the ground level, I stepped outside, pausing to savor the sunshine warming my face. A breeze swept through the open area, and the warm scent of sun-kissed bark and flowers perfumed the air.
Spotting a guard standing along the edge of the clearing, a blade in his hand, I strode right up to him.
“Hello,” I said.
