to heal a wound, you need to stop touching it
Sickness or no sickness, the clinic manages to be busy at the best of times. Kids skinning their shins on the reef or getting bitten by some sea creature or another; dockhands dropping crates on sensitive parts of themselves; fevers and coughs and sunstroke. All in a day's work, since the people of Torchline became truly aware that there was a place they could go for their ailments.
But there's a breath of quiet - just about - as it approaches midday, and Vai has finished writing notes and filing them away, cleaning up the consultation rooms and replenishing supplies, and she's taking a little time to water the herbs in their window boxes by the reception now. Her dark curls are pulled back in a loose braid, her shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow as she reaches into a drawer to take out a pair of small pruning shears.
"I reckon you're about ready to go," she remarks to one of the herbs - a potent sleeping draught, if made correctly - and proceeds with taking a few healthy clippings. "Keep it up," she advises the plant, as if speaking to them is a perfectly normal occurrence. And for a witch who lived in the Greatwood... it is.
But there's a breath of quiet - just about - as it approaches midday, and Vai has finished writing notes and filing them away, cleaning up the consultation rooms and replenishing supplies, and she's taking a little time to water the herbs in their window boxes by the reception now. Her dark curls are pulled back in a loose braid, her shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow as she reaches into a drawer to take out a pair of small pruning shears.
"I reckon you're about ready to go," she remarks to one of the herbs - a potent sleeping draught, if made correctly - and proceeds with taking a few healthy clippings. "Keep it up," she advises the plant, as if speaking to them is a perfectly normal occurrence. And for a witch who lived in the Greatwood... it is.
Vervain
