I ran into my room and searched for the newly-woven basket I had made the other day when we hadn't had any customers and I had finished all my chores.

I found the wooden basket, stuffed my black leather boots onto my feet, and grabbed my green-almost black cloak by the door on my way out and fastened the silver wolf-shaped clasp to my throat.

I trudged out of the house, only to be confronted by a handsome boy around my age of 14. He had pitch-black hair and eyes to match, tanned skin, and a look of pure pain on his beautiful face. But that was quickly extinguished when he saw me.

I looked down at his dark clothes and noticed that they were mostly burnt and barely covered his chest.

The skin underneath the torn holes was blistered and swollen.

I drew in a sharp breath and unconsciously dropped my basket.

Without saying a word I grabbed one of his hands that didn't look too burnt and pulled him inside.

"GRANDMOTHER!" I screamed, which was stupid because the first thing you learn about being a healer is to remain calm at all times. But this boy was close to death and he was swaying dangerously on his feet.

"What is it?" my grandmother came rushing in after hearing the urgency in my shout.

She took one look at the boy then grabbed his other hand, half pulling-half carrying him into the healing room.

She pushed him onto the giant oak table and made him lie down, which he did with the gentlest touch.

As soon as his back hit the table his eyes closed as if he were asleep.

"Hand me that dagger", she pointed to a highly polished knife resting on an ash wood table to my right. I reached over and picked up the weapon, surprised at how light it weighed.

Its hilt was pure silver and it had a snake with sapphire eyes coiling itself around the handle.

She snatched it from me and ripped the boys shirt through the middle with a loud tearing noise that resounded around the dense earthy room. She peeled the fabric off his swollen skin and inspected the wounds. I peeked over her short shoulder and was disgusted at the sight I saw.

His skin was silvery in some places, but flaming red and oozing bright yellow puss in others.

If I weren't accustomed to seeing nasty injuries nearly every day I probably would have thrown up my porridge.

"This is very bad", my grandmother muttered, and my heart instantly fell. She only said that when patients weren't going to make it.

I sighed, I hated it when we weren't able to do anything to save dying peoples lives.

"Shall I get the burn ointment?" I whispered, it was the best I could do for him at the moment.

She nodded and I turned to one of the many cupboards, reached into it, and pulled out a bottle of thick green liquid.

"Go out of this room while I check that his lower half didn't suffer as well", she said looking at me.

I nodded and respected her wishes, there was no way I would be allowed to stay in the same room while an older man was naked.

I hovered outside the door until she called me back inside. His dark pants were on so he mustn't have suffered any injuries.

"Help me rub this into the burns" she said, handing me the bottle. I uncorked it and poured the fowl smelling liquid onto his muscled stomach. The tanned skin felt blistered and uneven as my hands traveled over it, gently caressing the ointment into the wounds.

I saw him flinch slightly at my touch, but other than that he stayed as still as a statue the entire time.

After we had finished I helped her wrap his torso and arms with bandages as tightly as possible without causing too much discomfort for him.

"Do you think he's going to be all right?" I whispered, dreading the answer because I knew what it was going to be.

"I really don't know, the wounds are pretty serious and I'm not sure if the mixture is strong enough to completely heal him to make sure he lives." That was an answer that I hadn't been expecting, she was normally so sure of her healing powers, it scared me that she didn't know what was going to happen.

"Still, I hope he's going to be ok." I muttered.

"I do too." She whispered in her cracked voice.

She left then to go and make lunch while I kept watch over him.

I sat on a stool next to his head and watched with disappointment as his breaths became increasingly labored.

I took his uninjured hand in mine and rubbed soothing circles in the back of it with my thumb.

The whole day I sat like this, not caring about food or drink, just waiting to see what would happen.

If he would get better. Or worse.

My grandmother came a couple of times to hand me some cold meat and bread, and to help me change his bandages and reapply the salve.

My thumb ached, but I didn't care. It was weird, I didn't even know this boy, but I felt as if I had to help him as much as was physically possible for me.

He was unconscious most of the time so I gave him drinks of water by soaking a rag then dripping the water into his open mouth.

I was surprised that his face hadn't suffered any damage other than a few old scars. And for that he was lucky.

Soon it began to grow dark outside as the sun slowly descended in the sky. I let go of his hand to go and light the candles around the cramped room.

As his hand slipped out of mine I heard a soft moan, barely audible, slip from his lips. As I watched he shifted around a bit, wincing as his soar skin scraped against the table.

Then my mouth dropped as his eye lids, slowly, but surely, fluttered open.

His eyes darted around, confused, until they rested on me. His dark orbs slowly took in my dark hair, tanned skin, and slim figure. His gazed rested on my eyes last, we stared at each other until I came to my senses.

"Who are you?" I asked, finally finding my voice.

He took in a deep breath before replying, "I am Dorran, but that will soon be forgotten as I enter the void." His accent was slightly different to mine, but that was barely recognizable by the deep tones of his voice. He said this so matter-of-factly that I almost believed that he was going to die. Almost. But the common sense kicked in.

"Don't talk like that, you're not going to die, you're already looking better." I reassured him, and at the same time trying to convince myself.

"Nevertheless, I shall, please tell me your name so that when I die I will know the name of my rescuer."

I sighed, but did as he requested just incase his heart did stop beating in the near future.

"My name is Kalanie, and I shall do all in my power to enable that you live." Even as I spoke I could see the light slowly fading from his deep black eyes.

"Thank you" he whispered, before reaching down to a big leather bag that I hadn't noticed before that was attached to his belt.

His stretched his arm down, eyes closed in pain, to try and grab the sack.

But when his hand tightened around the bundle he found that he couldn't pull the weight towards him.

I could tell this infuriated his because he clenched his teeth and tried again—but to no avail.

"Need help?" I asked. He looked to me again then let out a breath he had been holding.

"Yeah, kind of". Even talking was hard for him now.

I reached across his bare chest and untied the package from his worn black leather belt and handed it to him.

He cradled it in the crook of his arm then turned back to me.

"Thank you for all the help you have given me." He whispered, using up the last of his energy.

His eyes closed as he pushed his hand into the bag, drawing out what looked to be a shiny black stone.

Its beauty was memorizing and it had thin silver veins cob webbing over the entire stone.

This movement had taken the very last of his strength and he leaned back, his head resting on my bunched-up cloak, and closed his onyx eyes, ready to enter the void.

I sat back down on my stool and started circling his hand with my thumb once again. His other hand rested on the polished black stone.

His breathing slowed around moon high and he let out a final, shuddering breath.

And he died.