It was fall. I, with Brenna, was walking around in the forest harvesting various fruits and nuts. Acorns for the pigs, chestnuts, elderberries, and whatever else we can find. The air was dry, the trees not fully having let go of their leaves. The ground littered with an uncountable number of leaves, oranges and yellows painted the landscape all around. The sun was clear, the sky blue, everything went with the cycles of times as they should.

My basket was held with my right hand, my hand entirely healed with very little visible scarring, and I wearing an entirely new set of clothes. Last winter my family had exchanged the newly earned bear pelt for fabric. Many times more than enough for me and my own clothes, my old pieces of clothing had been torn apart and made into various amounts of rags to use for cleaning. The bloodiest parts were simply thrown away or burnt. Kevin was made his own set of clothes, something he himself wasn't ready to wear, and in the same way Ita was made new clothes that were several times too large for her frame. She would eventually grow into them, just like Kevin would his.

"The forest this time of year always manages to catch me off in her vibrancy, she makes even the most gaudy clothes look like patchworked rags this time of year," Brenna monologues with herself, using me as a passive listener and absorber of her words. Despite having gotten better at reading the auras of those around her, she wasn't at the level where she can hold a conversation just through guessing what other people are thinking through their auras.

"Especially as it is now, where the oranges and light yellows are almost glimmering with life despite inevitably losing it. I don't think human hands can mange to capture these moments of beauty into clothes and accessories.

"The forest must blush in embarrassment over being robbed from each year, throughout every year, by such vulgar creatures like us. We can only take from her bounty and give nothing back but what she had herself made, the works of men who break her fruits and carve her children into caricatures of her own beauty and color being her only reward." Picking at rose hips, orange and red fruits of roses, and plopping them in the basket Brenna continued.

"Although she might enjoy the sights. Or perhaps she's never even noticed our presence, and I'm just imagining joyful humanity within a life that is used to pain and suffering. Each year is the same regardless of our presence."

I nodded at that. Waxing and waning over whether mother nature is hateful or loving of our presence isn't something I'd pick as something to talk about, but whatever keeps Brenna satisfied and content is enough for me. The rose hips were starting to become over ripe, although we had harvested a large proportion of the fruits throughout summer there was still plenty enough for us to gather. It was still morning, the baskets we carried with us in this journey of not truly earned harvest of the forest's fruit being mostly empty. We would be spending the entire day today simply harvesting, same as the men in the village who would spend long days harvesting their own crops.

"What do you think Attie? Does the spirit of this land care, or am I trying to capture the mind of a being that doesn't wish to be captured?"

I looked over at her as she picked the rose hips. I could answer in different ways, either gesturing or through some level of aura control. Choosing the latter, I move some water elementals within my body and project it outward. Blue as the sign of reception and reactions, as Brenna tells me often appears in those with questioning moods. Of it's light hearted, the blue would be light, if it's truly interrogative then it's dark and muddy. Trying my best to project a light blue, I responded.

Brenna smiles at my reaction and keeps picking. We stayed like this, harvesting as many rose hips as we could, until the remaining fruits were either too hard to acquire or too ripe, thus leaving them for the birds. Moving on we walked through the forest. A large part of the forest around the herbalist's roundhouse had been explored, and Brenna wanted us to go deeper in the woods so as to find new grounds.

We walked, noting the squirrels that ran and hid away within the trees. The sky was clear and without clouds, a perfect time to harvest crops on, and also perfect weather to collect foodstuff from the forest.

"Doireann is getting better, you know." Brenna started talking once again, idly watching and looking out for any berries, nuts, or fruit she could pick. I did the same, but provided she had a better sense of the woods both literally and figuratively she would almost always find fruit first. I nodded at her statement. Doireann had gotten sick recently, the master spending more time than really necessary healing and tending to her everyday. It had been a week, and things seem to finally be clearing away.

It's not uncommon for children to become under the curse of a sickness, especially those under the age of ten. Doireann had gotten through the worse years of five, but that doesn't mean she's perfectly safe of any sickness that might come. Adults, of course, could also become sick, but we tend to heal of those quickly. Deaths from illness for anyone but the elderly and the young aren't common, and easily resolved through herbal medicine. But the sight doesn't allow us to see into what causes illness, the herbalist says it's an imbalance of the elements, but I can sense there's something more to it than that.

Brenna wouldn't really talk much about what she sees in others. Not because she doesn't want to, but she doesn't have much in the way for words for what she sees. Whenever she does explain it sounds more like gibberish than actual language, so she's given up trying to. Much to her frustration.

"She doesn't cough as much as she use to. Her skin is not so pale, the blood of the herbalist more apparent in her looks once again," she smiles at that, "I'm glad. I'm always scared whenever I hear of a kid going through a period of sickness. I'm glad she had not been taken from me unjustly."

I nodded again. At these times I wish I could speak the most, but I simply walked instead. There's nothing for me to say here, although I do share her sentiments. Doireann had been forced to stay at home for the most of the time, to not interact with other children in fear of spreading whatever curse she's been inflicted with. Harsh, but the lives of other children and perhaps the elderly are at stake here. Such precautions are necessary.

We had arrived at a clearing this time. Puffballs are more common in summer and autumn, and seeing as it is fall and that we were in a clearing it would be wise to collect some. If there's enough it could be harvested just to eat rather than to make medicine out of.

"What does mom even want us to collect puffballs for, instead of something like a sorrel or a perforatum, we don't need to go out of our way to collect those little guys do we?" I shrugged, I have no answer for that either. Brenna is asking me a lot of questions she knows she won't get an answer to. Regardless I looked around the field for anything I could pick out, although we were mainly harvesting edibles rather than herbs, and that those two categories do overlap heavily, picking out anything useful or rare is fine. It wouldn't take long anyway.

"Do you think we should get something for Doireann? I don't think she'd like puffballs. Flowers would work, won't they? Not too many flowers bloom in autumn though. Go look around the field and see if you can get anything." Commanding, almost forgetting the fact of my own free will, Brenna made off to look for flowers for her little sister. Having nothing much to do, I do the same. It's not bad to give others gifts occasionally.

I have not actually been taught much of any flower types. Those that do bloom do so most commonly in spring, and those that don't aren't useful enough for me to gather or remember the names and shapes of. So I picked out whatever looked colorful, there were violets around and yellows, whites were also present. Of course there were rose hips, which could be pretty in itself. But no roses as it was too deep into fall.

The day went on like this, until afternoon came and carrying so many baskets of stuff became more of a hassle than a convenience. We headed back with an entire basket of flowers, probably much more than we should've gotten, through the well lit forest. It was a silent walk, only the crunching of the drying leaves against our weight, the birds were not chirping and no squirrel could be seen in their trees. It's said that the trip back is much faster than the initial trip, right now it felt the opposite.

Brenna, who would normally walk a little behind me as to catch more of the sight, was starting to pick up the pace and I along with her. Something was wrong, and I didn't need Brenna's own keen senses to tell. Brenna was sweating, most likely not from the heat as it was slightly cool, and most likely not from the exertion as we weren't walking that fast. If I could smell fear, it would be now. For the both of us, we knew what this sort of portent signaled. Danger, either ahead or behind us, was coming once again.

The light within the roundhouse could be seen from the distance. The entrance way, and the small garden of vegetables in front of my master's home could be seen now, as we were very close. Brenna made her footsteps lighter, and her pace slower, and I did my best to follow suit. The herbalist was not in her home. I could not hear the coughing of Doireann either. Both things were uncommon nowadays, as the herbalist would prefer to spend as much time with her sick daughter that she could allow.

Finally arriving inside, Brenna positively dripping with sweat and I starting to feel the cold pricks of fear run along my body, we saw Doireann in her bed, breathing short and quick breaths, and I watched as Brenna dropped her baskets where they were and ran to the side of her sister.

"She's got a fever again! Oh, curse these tribulations, Attie get a cloth! Find one, I don't care where, rip your clothes if you have to." I wouldn't rip my clothes, but I would find a cloth. If she had only payed attention to what was outside she would've known there was one, next to a pot of water, outside. Heading out to grab it, and picking up the rest of the pot of water with it, I headed inside and set it next to Brenna.

Brenna picked up the wet cloth, wrung it and then rewet it, then wrung it again before wiping the sweat off the forehead of her sister.

"Go find raspberry leaves." Brenna told me more quietly, not so commanding of a tone as she used before. Raspberry leaves, we have some amount of those but they're mostly dried out. Which isn't terrible, she would most likely want me to boil them and make Doireann drink from it. She'll also most likely tell me to get fresh water from the river. I'm going to be pretty busy for a while, then.

A couple of minutes went by as I tried to find the right container for the leaves, but I eventually found it and handed them all over to Brenna. She took a single leaf after taking the bag out of my hand, and filled it with the warmth of the fire close by, and then let it be consumed by the healing spell we're all heavily accustomed to.

"Go get water, that was just for now. Her fever isn't very high, but I'd rather it alleviate it now than let it stay for too long. I know it's fine to let the fever run it's course but, I want to be safe." Heading out and grabbing the pot of water with me, I dumped out whatever content remained inside and carried the empty pot with me. On the way there I saw the herbalist walking along back the trail that lead from the village to her home.

She gave a glance at the pot I was holding and my face, which must've showed some sign of worry, and she quickly grasped the picture of what was happening. I'm half sure she's been learning aura reading from Brenna despite not being all that good at even seeing them herself.

"Has Doireann broken into a fever again?" I nodded. She nods and walks a bit faster, both of us passing by each other as quick as possible, "jog if you want Brenna to not get angry at you for being too slow." Good advice. So I did jog towards the river.

---

The sky had darkened, colors that rivaled the autumn leaves were drawn upon the sky as the light of the sun faded and the soft touch of the night came to rule. I had spent the overwhelming majority of the day walking and running between tasks, at one stomach churning point having to go through the anxiety of whether or not something terrible had become of Doireann. But the day was otherwise much more normal. She only had a fever, unsettling given that we had expected her to be recovering now rather than still be in thick contest against the evils that wish to take her. Brenna had been convinced to continue to help me harvest the bounties of the forest, which she eventually relented to much to master's relief.

Right now we were standing next to each other, outside of the roundhouse. We were both weaving baskets, as we had no more time left to spend in the day foraging for goods but still had enough energy to not want to sit idle. My parents, in fear of little Kevin or Ita catching a mortally threatening illness didn't want me to come home tonight. I would likely have to sleep within the roof of my master's home. Not extremely uncommon but not all that common either, some days I don't have the energy to walk back home with. Today would be similar to those days.

Brenna was sluggish with her weaving. We were using willow sticks as the material this time, the same sticks we had debarked both the last spring and the one before it. She was worried about something and I could sense I would be the target of another monologue.

"I spoke too fast, and the gods cursed me for my presumptions." I was right. Wasn't all that amazing of a guess, but I was right. "Doireann is still sick and we have to stick with the smell of your sweat for today too, and who knows how long. The whispers over my possible chastity have already entered my ears, considering how much time I spend with you that isn't unexpected, and this isn't going to help with that all."

Sorry, if it helps I try not to think about you that way too often.

She looks over at me, and whether she's read my mind or simply looked at my facial expression replies with a heavier frown, "Shut up, this isn't about you anyway. It's about how powerless I am to the whims of those who think themselves greater than me, and how little control I have over the life of even my own family. Mom has saved many villager's lives, many of the children are only alive because of her craft, and we've both been taught it. But neither of us, or my mom, can offer a true cure for even the most common of evils that plague the children. So that's got me thinking, how much power do we really have as people, and how much power can we ever truly have over anything that happens at all? We've got these gifts of sight, but this isn't truly all that special. Four adults have this same power, three children, me, you, and Aiden have this gift, and who knows how many more will eventually gain this sight.

"But that amounts to nothing if all we can do with it is alleviate, not cure, illnesses. We can't stop death, wounds might heal faster and sure the smallest of wounds can be dealt with very easily, and I have heard of the stories of what life was like before this gift. Men and women would die over cuts and bruises, children would scarcely live to the age of fifteen. No one had any guiding sight, vision, barely even an idea of there being anything more than what meets the commoner's eyes. Mom told me they had to drink a special potion just to get an extremely inferior version of what we can do as simply as breathing. People were blind and they lead each other to their deaths, and those with the greatest sight were more likely to be wrong than they were right.

"But all that amounts to nothing if I can't save the life of someone I truly care about."

Brenna had stopped weaving mid way through her rant. Anger boiled in her voice and tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. She had been worrying about Doireann for two weeks now, a very serious curse has taken over Doireann. The feeling of Tenor's cold hands welled up within my heart. I held out my hand and placed it on her shoulder, hoping some of my own warmth would reach hers. She didn't respond and I waited until she got herself under control again. I could do nothing else.

All the was left was the sound of the forest, the crackling of the fire, and Doireann's grating cough. There was very little any of us could do but hope that she'll make it through.