Julia navigated the packed earth streets of Sharwood with a confidence that spoke of familiarity, weaving effortlessly through wary townsfolk clutching market baskets and the occasional slow-moving oxcart. Her purposeful strides seemed to carve a path, while William, still relying heavily on his branch-crutch, focused on keeping pace, the throb in his leg a dull counterpoint to the buzz of activity around him. His analytical gaze swept the surroundings, the sturdy timber-and-stone buildings, the watchful guards on the palisade, the hurried, anxious glances exchanged between neighbours. Atmosphere: Functioning settlement under high stress. Security posture: Elevated. He pushed down his discomfort. "Survived wolves while injured," he reasoned internally. "Navigating a busy street should be well within current operational parameters. Theoretically."
They soon arrived before a building slightly larger than its neighbours, distinguished by a simple wooden sign hanging above the door, depicting a stylized mortar and pestle. The town clinic. Its sturdy stone foundation rose to meet well-maintained timber walls, a blend of practicality and endurance that seemed characteristic of Sharwood.
Pushing through the door, William was met with a wave of sound and smell, a low murmur of pained voices, the clink of glass vials, terse instructions being given, all overlaid with the sharp tang of antiseptic failing to completely mask the heavier scents of poultices, stale sweat, and underlying illness. The large main room was a scene of managed chaos, partitioned by hanging lengths of coarse cloth and movable wooden screens. Near the entrance, a cot bore recent bloodstains, testament to emergencies handled. Further in, a mixture of guards in dented leather and townsfolk in simple garb rested on pallets or stools, faces etched with pain or weary patience. Triage and treatment areas established. Workflow appears organized despite high patient load.
A tall, thin man in a simple brown robe moved through the space with startling speed, his movements economical, precise. He adjusted a bandage here, handed a steaming cup there, his long, slender fingers probing a wound with focused intensity before moving to the next patient. This, William deduced, must be Mendal, the town's healer. Lines of exhaustion were carved deep around surprisingly kind eyes, but those eyes held a sharp spark of unwavering dedication. "Cross-referencing occupation: Healer/Doctor," William mused. "Operational tempo: High. Stress indicators: Visible. Reminiscent of system integration lead during crunch time, just with more bodily fluids and fewer Gantt charts."
Mendal glanced up, his gaze sweeping the room, and his expression instantly transformed as he spotted Julia. A wide smile, bright with relief, broke through the weariness. He strode towards them, his long legs eating up the distance. "Julia! Thank goodness, you're back and whole!" he exclaimed, his voice thick with genuine warmth and poorly concealed worry. "The rumours from Tallenwood… goblin scouts pushing south… I'd begun to fear the worst. Are you injured?" His hands hovered near her instinctively, scanning for harm.
Julia smiled warmly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'm fine, Mendal. Truly. Just weary. A few scrapes, nothing needing your skill." Her gesture redirected his attention. "But my companion here, William, needs your expertise."
William, who had been trying to make himself inconspicuous near the doorway, suddenly found himself the focus of Mendal's keen, professional gaze. The healer's eyes narrowed slightly, instantly shifting from relieved friend to assessing practitioner. He took in William's torn, leaf-stained suit, the makeshift crutch, the awkward way he held his left leg. Diagnostic assessment protocol initiated by local healer.
"Found him on the edge of Tallenwood," Julia explained concisely. "Unconscious. Nasty goblin bite on his leg, looked badly infected when we got to him. He'd managed to apply some crushed citrusroot himself, remarkably resourceful, really."
Mendal nodded, absorbing the information. "Let's have a look, then," he said, his voice brisk now, competent. He gestured towards a sturdy wooden stool nearby. William sat gratefully, wincing as he lowered himself. Data input: Healer's probing imminent. Potential output range: Minor cleaning to invasive debridement. Anxiety subroutine remains active.
Mendal knelt beside him, his movements swift but gentle as he began unwrapping the layers of cloth William had used. William held his breath, bracing himself for the sight of the wound, for the healer's diagnosis. They probably don't have standardized protocols for interdimensional goblin bacteria back on Earth…
The final layer came away. Mendal paused, leaning closer. "Hmm," he murmured, a low sound of focused concentration. His fingers gently probed the skin around the bite marks, assessing tissue texture, temperature, elasticity. William watched Mendal's face intently, looking for any micro-expression indicating severity.
Mendal looked again, then his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He looked up at William, then back down at the leg, frowning. "Remarkable," he breathed, more to himself than William. He leaned in again, examining the wound edges, the colouration of the surrounding skin. "Absolutely remarkable. The bite marks are clear – deep punctures, significant tissue damage initially, certainly. And I can see the residual signs of a severe infection… the discoloration deep in the tissue… but it's… gone. Completely resolved." He looked up at William properly now, eyes alight with a mixture of sheer puzzlement and intense professional curiosity. "This level of healing… from a goblin bite known to fester? This should have taken weeks, perhaps months with complications. Not…" he gestured vaguely, "a day or two since he was found?"
Healer reaction indicates observed healing rate significantly exceeds established medical parameters for this region/injury type, William noted internally. Data anomaly confirmed by external expert.
"You said you used citrusroot?" Mendal asked, his gaze sharp.
"Yes," William confirmed, feeling pinned by the healer's intensity, like a data point under scrutiny. "Crushed the leaves into a poultice. I… recalled citrus having antiseptic properties where I come from, and the leaves smelled strongly of it."
Mendal nodded slowly, visibly impressed by the logic but still baffled by the result. "Indeed, citrusroot has potent cleansing properties. It's a fine remedy, one of our best for wound infections. But to arrest it so completely, to promote healing this rapidly?" He tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. "The potency varies, of course, but not usually this dramatically. There would have to be other contributing factors. Unless…" His gaze turned speculative, distant for a moment. "The only accounts I've ever read of wounds knitting with such speed involved… magic. True healing magic, the kind spoken of in ancient lore, manipulating life force itself. But that knowledge… it's lost to Aver. Has been for centuries." He shook his head slightly, dismissing the fanciful thought with a pragmatic sigh. "Well, whatever the cause, potent herb, perhaps some innate resilience, you are an exceptionally lucky young man, William."
William's mind reeled. Lucky? Subjected to: interdimensional transit via algorithm failure, multiple hostile creature encounters, significant leg injury. Assessment: Current situation deviates significantly from standard definition of 'lucky'. Healer attributes accelerated healing to 'luck' or 'lost magic'. Hypothesis 3: Undocumented user regenerative ability ('Magic') gaining traction despite internal probability assessment remaining near zero.
Julia, who had watched the exchange with quiet intensity, spoke up. "So he's fine then, Mendal? No lingering danger from the bite?"
"He'll need to keep it clean, re-bandage it properly for a few more days to be safe," Mendal replied, already reaching for fresh bandages and a small pot of salve. His movements were deft as he cleaned the nearly-healed punctures and applied a light dressing. "And I'll give him a restorative tonic, help rebuild his strength after the ordeal. But yes, fundamentally… he's healed. It's quite astonishing."
Satisfied, Mendal straightened up, his attention already being pulled away by a low groan from across the room. Julia placed a light hand on William's arm, steering him towards the door. "We won't keep you any longer, Mendal. Thank you."
"Of course, Julia. Take care." Mendal nodded, already turning away. He paused at the doorway. "And William," he added, his gaze sharp again for a moment, "if you feel any discomfort, any returning heat or pain, or… well, anything unusual at all, come back immediately. Understand? This rapid recovery… it warrants further observation, when time permits."
Outside the clinic, back in the muted bustle of Sharwood's main street, Julia let out a visible sigh of relief. "Well, I'm glad that's settled. That bite looked truly nasty when we found you. It seems you're just a naturally fast healer, William."
William, however, barely heard her relief. He was still processing Mendal's words, the professional astonishment, the mention of lost magic. He looked down at his leg, at the clean bandage beneath his torn trousers. It did feel remarkably better. Data point: Healer assessment aligns with subjective experience of accelerated healing. Data point: Healer links phenomenon to 'lost magic'. Data point: User profile indicates no known magical aptitude. He stopped walking, turning to Julia, the need for information suddenly overriding his caution.
"He said… he mentioned healing magic," William murmured, the words feeling strange, testing the boundary of his own disbelief. "Like the translation spell you did. That's… possible? For healing?" His mind raced, trying to fit this new, impossible data point into his fractured model of reality. Could I have… magic? But that's illogical. I'm just… me.
Julia met his gaze, a warm, perhaps slightly knowing smile touching her lips. "Perhaps it was just the citrusroot and luck, William. Or perhaps…" she let the word hang for a moment, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes, "perhaps you just heal faster than you realize. Does it truly matter how, so long as you are healed?" Her tone turned practical, brighter. "Come on. Let's find Edward. He should be done at the Adventurers Guild by now."
They started walking again, but William's mind was buzzing. Surprises. Magic. Healing. All data points demanding investigation. He couldn't let it go. "Julia," he began again, his analytical curiosity now fully engaged, overriding his earlier decision to wait. "You mentioned magic… the spell you used… can you tell me more? How does it actually work?"