Shytora watched with gloomy eyes as the girl drank the bitter fluid she had handed her. If she hated something it was the gods taking a young soul back into their arms. The girl had been brought to her by terrified parents who woken the shaman in the middle of the night. The fever had taken over the little body. It was obvious that the child wouldn't survive the illness. Only very few did. All Shytora could do now was comfort her and her parents. 

With a caring smile she stroked the hot cheek. "There now. Breathe deeply, the pain will be gone soon." Turning to the parent's tear stained faces she placed her palms upon their heads, offering comfort and protection as was her duty as shaman. In a low voice she spoke: "The gods are merciful. They have seen the weakness in her and chosen to spare her a death of suffering during the winter." A soft sob was heard as the mother closed her eyes and grasped the hands of her husband even tighter. In a softer voice Shytora added: "The gods will keep her soul close to be reborn into a stronger body. She will be in no pain."

With all said and done she stepped away to wash her hands and face in a bowl. She felt sad and angry. This was unjust! Had the parents somehow offended the gods? But why bless them with an offspring only to take it away again? She hated the world for being so cruel. Either you survived or you died but who was chosen seemed to be picked randomly. She shook her head at that thought. Nothing happened without reason. Nothing happened without the gods having chosen for it to happen. Even curses could bear a kind of blessing without it being obvious or clear at first. It was still cruel!
Just at that moment she heard the voice of the one person she really couldn't deal with right now. "The gods shall bless those who nourish and protect the tribe." She answered in a sigh as she stepped towards Aishla.

The shaman had set up her colours and blessing stones a few feet away from the sanctuary, knowing how uneasy most people felt being there. She led the way to the tall tree beneath which she had set her bowls and stones and where a scythe rested against the trunk. "Come here so I may bless you." And she motioned towards a short piece of log that provided as seating. The paint had dried a little so she added a splash of water to the mixture. While she was reviving the paint made of blood, berries and water, she took in her sisters appearance. "Are you eating enough? You look weak. A scout should be strong!" Aishla looked skinnier and though Shytora would never admidt it she was worried. A sting started in her chest. Lately she always got this when dealing with her sister. The hurt was still present and the shaman couldn't help but think that the gods would punish her for causing so much trouble in the past. Then again, who married the man your younger sister had fallen in love with? No wonder the gods hadn't blessed the marriage! If however her current one should be Shytora sure hoped she wouldn't be woken to treat Aishlas child because of a fever. No one deserved that kind of suffering, not even her so loathed sister.