Panacea
Panacea cursed herself for once again doing the good thing and going the extra mile for those in her care. A young boy she had been treating had not been getting with her normal broths, ointments or tinctures. He could never seem to catch his breath, and his temperature seemed to always be cooler than normal. Despite the heat in Torchline, he was perpetually cold. So, on one night she was able to drown her liver, she had overheard a tale from some young sailor, on some small ship, about the oddities that grow in Halo, and more specifically the Hallow Forest. You absolute moron. Nothing good her grows. She pulls her fur coat closer to her body, attempting to maintain her warmth. She borrowed the hood coat, and fur lined boots and pants from one of the local vendors she shops with, whose son spends his time exploring the continent and brining home gifts for his mother to keep and to sell. They were a size too small, and a few years too well worn. I hate the cold. I should have never left my island. The breeze picks up and whistles through the trees and the darkness. She can hear the music she swore were described only to scare children in stories. You idiot. This cold will kill you, unless something from the void gets you first.
Panacea is well aware of all of the void creatures that still linger in the area. The knife and bow she has become more than comfortable with are ready and waiting. Her bag at her back is ladened with enough clothes and food to last at least five days, with plenty of space to accommodate whatever she may collect. Taking a fortifying breath, she continues on, walking though the cloud of breath she had created. And then she stops. She hears it. A whisper of a breath that does not sound human or animal. The hair on the nape of her neck begins to stand on end, and she has the overwhelming sense that she is being watched. Panacea slowly turns her head. From the corner her eye, a slight glow hid behind the trees. I hate this place
Panacea is well aware of all of the void creatures that still linger in the area. The knife and bow she has become more than comfortable with are ready and waiting. Her bag at her back is ladened with enough clothes and food to last at least five days, with plenty of space to accommodate whatever she may collect. Taking a fortifying breath, she continues on, walking though the cloud of breath she had created. And then she stops. She hears it. A whisper of a breath that does not sound human or animal. The hair on the nape of her neck begins to stand on end, and she has the overwhelming sense that she is being watched. Panacea slowly turns her head. From the corner her eye, a slight glow hid behind the trees. I hate this place
// He who has health, has hope. He who has hope, has everything. //
// Take a breath and let the rest come easy //
// Take a breath and let the rest come easy //
