"You've…you've done something wrong," the man lying on the bed said through half parted lips, his breath labored and loud. "But your cure is not working."

"They're still here," the old man mumbled hoarsely, coughing tersely.

"Whiny geezer."

Katrina recognized the last voice. Its distinct tone irritated her ever since she met him, and the man never stopped glaring with contempt at her for the past few hours. Fran—the witty pest. Unlike the insects that craved for food and a place on her table, Katrina could not get rid of him through any simple means.

"Do something, you damn woman. A pillar without a burden to bear is useless."

Katrina shuddered and rolled on her heels to avoid his petrifying gaze, or muffle his harsh voice unsuccessfully by whispering comforting words to herself.

In reality, she was exposed, just like a deer that recklessly turned its back on a predator. The people who talked yelled foul words and demands at her, and the silent ones watched her with obvious dislike. The sharpness in their gaze, the feral look on their face; she was exposed and defenseless, and could do nothing to make them stop.

"My stomach is devoured by wretched beasts lady," the man on the bed grumbled. "Your sweet face is not going to stop them."

"Give it time," Katrina said firmly, without even realizing that she had been staring at the pain struck man. "The cure will work."

"The pain will stop," the woman who always sat by his bed said whispered softly. "Lady Healer is proficient with herbs."

With a dirty and soggy handkerchief, the man groaned and wiped his sweat drenched brow. Katrina felt tense and troubled. What had she provided to this man whose contorted face bore the wrinkles that came with anguish?

Tea, she thought. A cure for thirst.

Her fingers kneaded as a perilous drop of sweat slithered down her left temple. Blood rushed through her tight muscles, reddening her hot and slightly humid skin under the silky dress. The protective material that flowed gracefully along her body now felt constricting and uncomfortable.

She kept her composure well until now, but newfound worries never ceased to storm her mind in sudden surges. The noise, the yells, they almost seemed debilitating. And the coughs had yet to cease.

" Use spells!" One of the women screamed, but Katrina did not bother deciphering her identity through all the chaos. "Do you have spells, like in the market? Give people spells to drink."

"False, useless healer," a faint but gentle voice said, followed by short, dry gasps. It was a child's voice, the same child Katrina tried to comfort.

Katrina barely suppressed a yell. Despite the people's worries, she was still the Lady Healer. She held authority, and hearing such ungrateful words from a spoiled brat irritated her to the point where she almost exploded, were it not for the condemning, demoralizing looks that embedded in her swollen pride and courage.

Little runt, Katrina thought, narrowing her eyes. Your mother does not even know how to cook.

The small room reverberated with the sounds of sickness and depravity. It was this state of apathy and powerlessness that urged Katrina to leave. Some voices were so loud that they intertwined with the screech of a chair, the retch of one of the sick and the omnipresent groans of pain. It was a cacophony that heralded death, a much peaceful solution to all those helpless, ungrateful people.

"Look at her!" Fran yelled. "Staying and watching, bewildered and intimidated by the very people she promised to cure."

"False healer!" Two people joined in an uneven chorus.

"They're dead, but still they live," the old man said, pushing away the wooden stools as he shuffled towards Katrina. "There is no life here, healer. Leave, and they will not take it away."

"The hell she does," Fran hollered, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Katrina. A sinister power welled in his eyes, a product of desperation that unnerved even Roran. He often spoke of dying soldiers, making sure to safeguard her every time by emphasizing the brutality and gruesomeness of the war. It was only now when Katrina finally understood what the look that Roran always refused to describe looked like. And it did not unnerve her.

I bear a child you bastard. I will poison you if I must, Katrina thought, smiling at him wryly while she tidied her dress.

"I need supplies," she said loudly, adjusting her voice properly to cover all the muffling distortions. "The cure will work, but certain herbs have to surrender their essence in the pure water. Herbs you do not have."

Fran chuckled. "She boiled everything and now she wants to flee."

"Dat true!" A woman added condemningly, her voice a gritting shrill.

"You boiled the nuts, Thargrim's beard, everything!" Fran continued, his hand shaking due to fury as he pointed towards her. "The bulbs are for cooking. They heal none!"

"Fran!" Lehmontecte intervened. "Back in my village, such unscrupulous words delivered to a lady throw a man into disgrace."

The guardsman whistled, adopting a battle stance. Katrina wondered if the firm hand placed on the pommel would actually draw the sword out of its sheath.

"Let the lady pass, dizzy fools. She is your friend, not an enemy," he said, extending the same hand that he would have used to probably kill to her. His expression was solemn, but actions betrayed the kindness and trust he harbored for people.

Katrina gulped emptily, accepting his hand. She was greatly surprised by the effectiveness of his commanding tone and stoic position that towered above everyone, including Fran. No disagreements followed, and it was now obvious that she had never held any authority, except for the one nurtured by the people's hope. When that died, so did the power in her words faded.

"Gratitude, Lehmontecte."

The guard nodded curtly, allowing her to walk in front of him and be the first to escape the stinking house. "Return swiftly, Lady Healer. They need your speed of thought and agile constitution."

The door creaked open, allowing a surge of light to cascade into the dark room. Its intensity made Katrina's eyes water as she squinted, her legs carrying her outside the house she began to detest.

She barely heard the door smashing against the wall as she inhaled the cool, clean air deeply. Then, she exhaled all the stench that permeated her body; all the worries, the fear, the despicable lies she had been forced to say.

With swift steps, she hurried down the uneven path through the crowded buildings that converged with another before merging with the main road.

The sun warmed her soft skin, and the warm rays intertwined in the combed, auburn hair. Katrina felt free, happy. Free that she surmounted a possible obstacle and happy that her wit outplayed a bunch of sick fools.

Before she ventured into the peaceful city, Katrina looked at the dilapidated cottage. It wasn't resentment that she was feeling, or regret. No, it was something else, and she wondered if Lehmontecte, or Fran, were able to decipher her intentions. If so, would they know that she was not going to return?

It's pretty short, but I did not really want to mix this one with what is following, but I promise a fast update this time. So, what did you think? I'm pretty sure Katrina is not really meeting your expectations.