Chapter 4 The Healer's Eye

• The village of Mooncrest breathed with the kind of life that came from repetition—fires tended, weapons sharpened, paths worn by memory. Yet every step I took felt like it left an imprint where it didn’t belong.
• Ravnir walked beside me in silence, the weight of his presence oddly comforting. We hadn’t lingered at the gate. After the brief exchange with the guards, he merely nodded toward the central path and led the way. No grand welcome. No introductions to crowds. Just movement.
• The village was a collection of thatched homes and clay structures, built low against the wind. Some beastmen moved in their full humanoid forms, tails flicking and ears twitching, while others wandered in beast form—wolves, tigers, bears, all weaving seamlessly among the paths. Some females strolled alongside their mates, laughter spilling like water over stones. The air was thick with smoke and spice, and the occasional clang of metal echoed from somewhere deeper within.
• Ravnir gestured subtly as we walked. “That’s the market square,” he said, nodding toward a wide clearing bordered by low stalls. “You’ll find traders there most mornings—meat, furs, tools. Occasionally something sweet, if you’re lucky.”
• We passed a wide circular space where fire pits sat dormant. “That’s the gathering ring. Used during high moon feasts, disputes, and other gatherings such as festivities.”
• At the far edge of the village, nestled beyond the training fields and just before the treeline thickens, lies a cave—half veiled in mist even on the clearest days. Ravnir followed my gaze and spoke in a tone laced with reverence. “That cave houses the Pool of Mirrors. It’s where we hold our naming ceremonies. Only parents and the healer are allowed to enter. The sacred pool shows us a glimpse of who a child is meant to be.”
• Further down, he pointed to a broad, flat structure set atop a rise. “The Elders’ hall. That’s where we hold council and settle matters of the territory.”
• I took it all in silently, grateful for the information. I had no idea where he was taking me, but the steady cadence of his voice grounded me.
• “Training fields,” he said next, motioning to our left. There, several warriors were engaged in sparring—muscles taut, sweat shining on their backs. “They train from dawn to dusk. You’ll hear them before you see them most days.”
• A few warriors paused and called out to Ravnir as we passed.
• “Leader! You owe me a rematch!” One of them grinned, blood trailing from a split lip.
• “Tomorrow,” Ravnir called back. “If your arm still works by then.”
• Laughter rippled around them.
• A tall male jogged closer, his wolf tail twitching as he eyed me curiously. “Who’s the shadow?”
• “She walks beside me. That's all you need to know,” Ravnir replied coolly.
• The male lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to prod. Just… new face. Rare around here.”
• He glanced my way. I returned his look with a raised brow and silence. That seemed to amuse him.
• We continued on. The crowd thinned as we reached a quieter part of the settlement. Near an open field where warriors trained under the fading sun, Ravnir finally paused. The field echoed with the dull thuds of wooden weapons and low shouts, but the place before us radiated quiet purpose.
• A hut, thatched and ringed with herbs drying under the eaves, stood set apart from the clustered homes. The scent reached me before we stepped forward—lavender, bitterroot, and something sharper, almost metallic. Not unpleasant. Just... known.
• Ravnir stepped ahead, pausing just short of the door. “The Elders received word of our arrival,” he said at last. “This is the healer's hut. You’ll be staying here for now.”
• Before I could reply, the door creaked open.
• [Scan complete: Species – Lion type. Age – 876. Rank – Elder Healer. Status – Stable.]
• The figure who emerged looked to be in his mid-forties by human standards—tall and broad-shouldered, with golden lion eyes that seemed to burn through shadows. His hair was long, thick, and streaked with grey, braided tightly at the sides but full.
• He looked directly at me, his gaze lingering—not in hostility, but curiosity. “So, you’re the one who spoke of gut-wind at the gates,” he said. “Claimed yourself a healer.”
• “I am,” I replied. “From where I come from, it’s a common ailment easily managed.”
• Ravnir inclined his head. “This is Elder Harkan. Elder and healer of Mooncrest.”
• I dipped my head respectfully. “Xueya.”
• He nodded once. “You’ll sleep here. The cot’s clean. The fire won’t go out. We rise with the light. Until then, rest.”
• Ravnir stepped back. “I’ll return in the morning.”
• “Wait,” I said softly, catching his wrist before he turned. “Thank you. For guiding me.”
• Our eyes met. Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe, or recognition too faint to name. He gave a small nod, then turned and vanished into the settling dusk.
• Elder Harkan stepped aside and gestured for me to enter.
• Inside, the hut was warmer than expected, filled with the low crackle of firewood and the dry scent of stored herbs. Shelves lined the walls—jars of roots, folded furs, hanging scrolls, and bundles tied with sinew. The cot near the fire was neatly made.
• “You’ve claimed to be a healer,” he said without looking at me.
• “I’ve trained in medicine,” I replied. “Body and spirit.”
• He moved toward a small table and slid a cloth pouch across it. “Sort these. Not by sight. By scent.”
• No praise. No explanation.
• I opened the pouch without hesitation. Dried herbs spilled across my fingers, and instinct kicked in. My senses sharpened. I let the system’s silent guidance hum in the background—but didn’t rely on it.
• One by one, I sorted them. Bark from leaf. Stem from petal. Cooling from warming.
• When I finished, I looked up.
• Elder Harkan’s expression didn’t change. But something in the set of his shoulders eased.
• “Good. At dawn, you assist with the rounds.”
• “I understand,” I said.
• He turned away, and I exhaled slowly.
• The fire crackled beside me. The cot beckoned.
• For the first time since waking in that otherworldly pool, I felt the threads of a role I understood beginning to weave around me.
• Not home.
• But something like it.
• Enough, for now.