The stale air of the lab shone with the last rays of light dancing in through the window. The desk was laden with the type of "junk" you might find at a market set up to sell trinkets. 

Monika had fallen asleep at study again. Her head rested on a book with a red leather cover and expensive vellum pages. It was open to a page detailing the many uses of the dandelion flower.

A whistle. A bang.

She sprung up in her seat, sleepily alert. The kettle she had set earlier had just reached boiling temperature, which it really wasn't meant to do considering what she had put in there. 

She raced over to it, lifting the kettle to pour it into the nearby vessel.

"FUCK!" She shouted as she dropped the kettle. It was still hot, who would have thought?
   She sighed in defeat and pain as it clattered to the ground and spilled everywhere. It wouldn't damage anything, not after being boiled, but it'd be annoying to clean up, and, if she left it to dry out, it'd leave a dangerous salt.

So she cleaned it up, treated her hands, and got the ingredients for a new batch ready. The brewing would have to wait though, as she had a delivery to make.

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As she was walking she considered the speedy recovery Skurr had made. He was still in a bad way, but no longer delirious or in life-threatening stages of infection. 

She still couldn't tell whether it was the healing she had been providing, or the man's fitness that had kept him alive. It wasn't worth considering the healing the priests had been providing. Monika knew that prayer did nothing but reassure the mind.

She was glad that the priests had been accepting of her talents enough to hire her to heal Skurr though. In this week she had learned more about healing than she had in the last month, purely due to the frantic study it took to attempt to dull the symptoms.

It was as she reached Skurr's door that she remembered the note, and the peculiar paper it was written on. That would need attention later.

"Your medicine, Skurr," she called, knocking on the door.