Marguerite stood at the back of the group keeping quiet. It didn’t come naturally to her despite her time in Shyalla’s convent but she was shrewd enough to know that while it was safe enough to practice her healings and various other potions among the common folk, it was a different story with people of higher social station. Such people were more likely to travel, more likely to gossip to others about a Sister of Shyalla working in their town, before you know it word would reach one of the convents where some busy body with too much time on their hands would take notice and investigate. Still there were times when a little risk could pay off.

“Herr Mayor,” she spoke up, surprising even herself.

“The boy may have run many miles and judging by the condition of his feet, much of it through the forest.” That much was certainly true, there had been a crust of pine tar and leaf litter on his feet, something she had needed to peel off before she could dress his torn soles.

“It may take us some time to find whatever it is took him, might we trouble you for a wagon and some supplies for the journey?”

The mayor arched a bushy eyebrow at her, clearly not having anticipated that a healer would be interested in accompanying such a group. Truthfully she didn’t have much inclination to do so but she had felt something during her dream and she didn’t want to ignore it. More than that, this way if she decided to blow town it would be with a wagon.

“Its a… religious obligation,” she temporized for a moment before inspiration struck.

“If I understand the cause of the boys malady, I might be better able to help cure him, tis often the way with diseases of the mind,” she went on authoritatively.