"Healing is never just of the body- it's the mind that takes the longest to return."
She couldn't open her eyes at first.
Stuck somewhere between waking and sleep, Amara lay still- Her body too heavy her breath too shallow. She could hear faint sounds, soft splash of water being poured, the faint rustle of fabric and and the low murmur of someone speaking words in a way that made no sense to her. It all registered but she made no movement. Slowly the words did start to make sense to her, and it was only then did her consciousness kick in and she realised the words were addressed to her.
"...You are now safe. You may rest. You are no longer in the forest."
She registered the voice to be low and even. Feminine. The words were spoken with certainty and not the measured clinical coldness of healers.
Amara's brow furrowed. Her head was pounding, but her thoughts slowly surfaced, clinging to scraps of memory. Eirion. The journey. The tree. Pain. Her home. The Tantravighaktaks. She had to get out of there. Go see her home. Her people. But she felt weak. Too weak.
With effort, she managed to blink her eyes open. The ceiling was arched timber, dark with age, bound in iron joints. Soft green light filtered through a round windowpane mottled with vines. The air smelled of lavender, pine, and something coppery—blood or some kind of tincture.
She tilted her head slightly and winced.
"Do not move too quickly," the woman said from the side of the room. "You've torn two wounds open during your journey. They've been closed again, but you'll feel the sting for some time."
Amara turned toward the voice. The woman standing by the basin was tall and dressed in ash-grey robes with sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Her black hair was braided and pinned around her head like a crown. Her eyes, pale hazel with golden flecks, held a kind of knowing that made Amara feel exposed without ever being judged.
"You're… one of the healers?" Amara asked, her voice hoarse.
"I am Milena," she replied, without hesitation. "Chief of the sanitarium. You've been asleep for nearly a full day. It is a good sign."
Amara glanced down at her arms. Her skin was swathed in tight linen bandages, painted with what looked like fine ink symbols and pressed with fragrant resin. They smelled faintly of rosemary and smoke. Her legs, too, were braced and wrapped, though she could move her toes beneath the covers.
"I thought I wouldn't make it past the slope," she muttered.
"You nearly didn't," Milena replied. "But you are stronger than you realize. And stubborn. Probably. That helps."
Amara tried laughing but she was still in pain and exhausted so all that came out was a long sigh, that sounded
"Is this the sanitarium?"
"Yes," Milena said, crossing the room with a clay cup in hand. "The upper hall. You're not the only one healing from the forest's reach, but your case is… rarer."
She handed Amara the cup. The liquid inside smelled sharp but earthy. Bitterroot and white elder, if she guessed correctly.
"Drink slowly. It will help with the fog."
Amara did as instructed, and as the warmth of it filled her chest, she found herself finally asking, "How far… did its roots reach?"
Milena didn't answer. Her bright face had turned grim.
And in that moment, Amara wished she hadn't asked.
****
Eirion knocked at the door and quietly stood in a corner without a word. Although he spoke a bit to Amara on their way to the settlement, here he seemed stoic and calm. His face was radiant with sharp features but a shadow was cast over his right eye. She wondered what it was. It then occurred to her that he probably kept talking to her to keep her from passing out and alert.
Milena drew a stool beside the bed and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. Her posture was steady, unhurried, as if time moved differently here.
"It reached far enough," she said at last, "that we did not expect to find anyone alive at the edge this season. Few make it out. Fewer still make it this far on foot."
Amara's fingers tightened slightly around the cup. "So you weren't looking for me."
"We weren't," Milena replied honestly. "Eirion brought you. He doesn't usually interfere with the edge unless he has reason."
Amara didn't know how to feel about that. Grateful, perhaps. Or lucky. But neither word felt solid enough to hold the weight of what she'd endured.
"How many have made it out alive?" she asked quietly.
"In the last five years?" Milena tilted her head in thought. "Three."
Amara blinked.
"There is one here now," the healer continued. "He came with a scouting group from the outer wards—defenders. He's the only one who returned. That was… a few months ago. His wounds were graver than yours. He may not ever walk without aid again."
Amara swallowed hard.
"The other," Milena went on, "was found just over a year ago. Spent eleven months in the sanitarium. He left last week."
"And before that?"
Milena's silence stretched. Then, softly, "No one."
For a moment, the room felt colder despite the hearth that crackled in the corner.
"I thought I was dying," Amara said, her voice smaller than she intended for it to be.
"You were not dying," Milena said with that calm certainty again. "Not yet. You were exhausted. Burned. Dehydrated. Poisoned, maybe. But not beyond repair."
Amara looked at her. "You sound very sure of that."
"I've seen what it looks like when someone crosses the threshold already dead," Milena said. "You came through clawing at life. There's a difference."
A quiet hum filled the space—no words, just the sound of wind weaving through the herbs hanging above the windows.
"You will recover," Milena added after a pause. "In time. If you let yourself."
"Will the others speak with me?" Amara asked, suddenly wary. "The ones who've survived before me?"
"The one still here? Perhaps. When you're strong enough. The other did not speak much. Not even at the end."
That wasn't comforting. But maybe it wasn't meant to be.
Milena stood and adjusted the blanket over Amara's legs.
"You should rest a while longer. I will return at dusk to change your bandages."
"Wait," Amara asked, looking up at her, eyes laced with a question she couldn't fully form. "Why… do you think I survived?"
Milena studied her for brief moment before saying seriously:
"Because something wanted you to."