The following day, Crow awoke late as usual. He opened his eyes and looked around the camp dazedly, trying to remember when he had fallen asleep. Having wanted to hear about the results of Hazel’s meeting with Penelope and that physician, he had tried to stay up and wait for her to return the night before. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.

He sighed and rolled over on his bed. From what he could see, it looked like all of his companions had gone out again for the day, so if he wanted to hear anything from Hazel, he would have to wait for her to come back from wherever it was she had gone. He shifted impatiently, the motion causing his injured leg to smart in response. He grimaced and made a mental note to ask the herbalist to change out the bandages for him later as well. In their focus on his illness, the wound had gone somewhat forgotten.

It didn’t take long before boredom began to set in. He rolled over again and let out his breath in a long exhale, toying with the idea of going back to sleep. There was no telling how long it would be before Hazel returned, and he had nothing to do until then. However, before he even had a chance to close his eyes, he felt his chest tighten, a familiar indication that he was going to have another coughing fit. [i]Not again,[/i] he groaned inwardly. Ever since he had reached the third phase of the illness, the Myrefall herbalist’s medicine no longer worked to suppress the episodes.

In the next moment, he doubled over as the fit seized his body. Unable to do anything to fight it, he didn’t bother to try. Instead, he simply waited for it to pass, enduring the pain it triggered deep in his chest. That was another change he had noticed recently. Before, the coughing fits had been uncomfortable, but they had never caused him anything more than some bruising on his ribs, and even that had only happened once or twice when the episodes had been especially bad. But now, it felt like they were tied to something worse.

Dark scarlet droplets spattered the cave floor as the cough drew blood at last. Soon after, it finally passed, and he was able to lay his head down again. “Damn it,” he muttered, closing his eyes and breathing heavily from the exertion. He had been hoping the last medicine Hazel had made for him would be the one, but apparently it hadn’t worked either. It was getting harder to hold onto the hope that there was even a cure for his disease out there at all.

The metallic taste of blood lingered unpleasantly on his tongue, and the thief spat on the ground in a vain attempt to get rid of it. Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps echo near the entrance of the cavern, and he glanced up to see that Hazel had returned. The herbalist walked over to him with her bag of supplies and sat down, knitting her brow in a concerned frown as she looked him over. “It happened again, huh?” she mused as she set down her things.

“Yeah,” Crow sighed. He met her gaze curiously. “How’d you know?” The sleeping area of the cave was shadowed in darkness, so he doubted she had noticed the blood on the ground so quickly.

Hazel tapped the corner of her mouth, and the thief blinked. He reached up to drag the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the blood from his lip.

“Well, hopefully that’ll be the last time,” Hazel said with a smirk. “I’ve got a new medicine for you that I have a good feeling about.”

“So, I take it your meeting last night went well?” he raised a brow, finally able to ask the question that had been on his mind all day.

“Surprisingly, yes,” the herbalist nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, that physician knows her stuff. She gave me a few herbs that I included in your next batch of medicine.” She reached into her bag and withdrew the usual jar, handing it over to him. “Try this.”

Crow propped himself up on his elbows and took the container from her. Popping off the top, he lifted it to his lip and tilted his head back to down the whole thing. When it was empty, he looked down at the empty jar with a thoughtful expression, “Huh.”

“What?”

“This one didn’t taste nearly as bad,” he said, glancing up at her. “It’s kind of like mint.”

“That would be the motherwort,” Hazel explained. “It’s one of the herbs that noble gave me. I added a lot of it, since she said it’s effective at healing the heart.”

“Well, I hope it does the job on me,” he said as he handed the empty container back to her. “I’d much rather take this than that bitter stuff you were giving me before.”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Well excuse me for not making you a draught you enjoy,” she drawled sarcastically. “I was too busy trying to find ingredients that will actually heal you.”

“I’ll forgive you if you keep bringing me medicines like this,” he grinned at her teasingly.

“Just for that, I’m going to be sure your next one is extra bitter,” she snorted, rising to her feet.

“Oh, come on,” Crow rolled his eyes. “I was only kidding.”

“Too late,” the herbalist said with a wry smirk. “Consider this payback for all the attitude you’ve been giving me lately, snake.” With that, she turned and headed toward the fireplace, where the other thieves who had just gotten back to the camp were beginning to gather.

“Me and my big mouth,” Crow muttered, shaking his head. He laid back down on his bed and rolled over to face the wall. Regardless of how Hazel prepared the medicine to taste, he was glad that she finally seemed to be on the right track to finding a cure for his illness. He closed his eyes, eager to fall asleep so he could find out if the draught was working in the morning.