As planned, Crow headed to Myrefall by himself to speak with the local villagers. In truth, he didn’t have much that he needed to do there. He had just needed an excuse to avoid going to Norcrest so he wouldn’t chance running into Penelope again. After she had told him she didn’t want to be with him anymore, he didn’t want to see her—not for a long time, if ever again. He wanted to let go of her now that he was certain there would be no future for them, and that meant staying as far away from her as possible.

He ambled slowly through the forest, moving as a casual pace since he wasn’t in a rush while still keeping a close watch of his surroundings in case there were any knights nearby. The local guards were well aware of the thieves in the area, and he knew they were on the lookout for them, so he kept his guard up and his hood drawn.

Of all the thieves in the group, he had to be the most cautious. Because of his past reputation, many of the knights who had been working in the outer villages for a long time already knew his face. Rikki, Alistair, and Simon had the advantage of being able to walk around in public, since they weren’t known by the local guards, but Crow couldn’t share in the luxury. In a way, he had recently come to regret how well known he was in Brerra. It was a pain to have to keep a low profile everywhere he went.

After a while of walking and letting his thoughts roam, Crow arrived in Myrefall. He made quick work of his errands, speaking to a couple of the village elders—contrary to their name, they were all in their thirties, since the people there died so young—about the state of the village and passing off some gold that he and the other thieves had procured from their last heist. The gifts he brought were the main reason why the villagers of Myrefall tolerated his presence, since, as an infamous thief, he otherwise just brought them trouble.

Even though he finished what he had told the others he was going to do, he didn’t leave Myrefall right away. Instead, he made one more trip to a man that lived in a small, run-down house at the northern edge of the village.

Crow stood in front of the door and took a deep breath. He knew that as soon as he stepped inside, he would be admitting he needed help. Part of him was still stubbornly clinging to the hope that he would be fine on his own, but it was becoming harder and harder to deny the truth. He couldn’t do this alone anymore.

He lifted a hand and knocked on the door.

A muffled shuffling sound came from inside the house until the door swung open, revealing a rather short man with a bald head and a scruffy, braided bread. The man squinted up at him, eyeing the thief with a scrutinizing stare. “What do you want?”

Crow shifted his weight, averting his gaze uncomfortably as he found it difficult to look him in the eye, “I heard you’re the one the people of this village come to for medicine.”

“That’s correct,” the man confirmed brusquely, his calculating gaze wandering up and down the thief’s body as if he was trying to diagnose him just by sight. After a moment, he grunted and shuffled back into the house. “Come inside.”

Crow hesitated for a moment before he followed after the man. As he entered into the tiny home, he took a moment to look around. It was small, definitely intended to shelter just one person, and he wondered absently if the herbalist had built it by himself. In addition to the small size, the space felt even more cramped because of how filthy it was. Dried leaves and dirt littered the floor, and the walls were covered in yellowing paper depicting hand-drawn images of plants. Used pots and jars cluttered what looked to be a makeshift kitchen. Overall, his first impression was that the man was a bit unusual.

“So,” the herbalist sat down heavily at a table covered with more plant drawings and gestured for Crow to do the same. “What brings the most infamous thief in the kingdom to my humble abode?”

“You know me?” Crow raised a brow as he sat down across from him. He had heard that the man was reclusive and didn’t often leave his home, so he was mildly surprised that he had heard of him before.

“Of course,” the herbalist waved a dismissive hand. “Everyone in this village knows who you are,” he smirked, seeming to read the thief’s mind. “…even a hermit like me.”

“Hm,” Crow grunted, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know whether I should be flattered or concerned.”

“Take it as you will,” the man shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I care not. However, you seem to be avoiding my question.” He leaned forward with a curious glint in his eye. “You look healthy enough, so I ask again: Why exactly are you here, thief?”

 Crow shifted in his seat, “I fear I’ve caught the illness that plagues the people of this village.” He forced himself to meet the herbalist’s gaze. “I was hoping you might have a remedy.”

The man clicked his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately, if you’re right, then there isn’t much I can do.”

“I was afraid of that,” Crow’s heart sank.

“However, I do have something that could ease your symptoms,” the herbalist went on. He stood up and moved to open a drawer, retrieving a vial of green-black liquid, which he offered to the thief. “This won’t cure you, but it will suppress the coughing and chest pains. I’ve given it to other villagers before, and it’s had much success. It’s potent, so a few drops a day is all you’ll need.”

“Thanks,” Crow slipped the vial into his tunic, though the man’s gesture did little to improve his mood. He looked up again as a question came to him that he both dreaded to ask, yet needed to say, “So, if I’m not going to get better, then what should I expect from here? I have to know.”

“Are you sure?”

Crow nodded resolutely, and the herbalist eyed him for a moment before answering, “The disease is known in these parts as Creeping Death. It strikes subtly at first but progresses slowly until it leaves its victims bedridden. The first stage, as I mentioned, is coughing and chest pain. This can last anywhere from a month to a year. Next, you’ll start to experience spells of dizziness and fatigue. This stage can also last from a month to a year. When you begin to cough up blood, that’s when you know the illness is starting to take its final course. At that point, all you can do is pray that death comes quickly.”

Crow nodded wordlessly, unnerved to hear the gruesome prophesy of his fate. Part of him regretted asking, but it was better for him to know what to expect now rather than be caught by surprise later on. Stomach churning, he stood up from the table and drew a small pouch of gold from his tunic pocket. “Thanks for your help,” he said quietly with a polite dip of his head, holding out the money to the herbalist. “Here. This is for the medicine.”

“Of course,” the man nodded in return as he accepted the pouch. “I’m truly sorry you weren’t able to escape from the clutches of the disease, and I hope your experience is more peaceful than those who have succumbed to it before you.”

The thief nodded appreciatively at his words and turned to leave the herbalist’s house. Having completed everything he needed to do in Myrefall, he began to make his way back to the hideout, trying to ignore the weight of dread in his chest at the thought that there was nothing he could do to change his fate.