Holy… How was he walking much less, working?

  He should be in bed hooked up to an IV with antibiotics flowing. I schooled my face and gave away none of my concerns.

  Don’t take away hope. Especially not when magic exists in this world.

  I turned him to face the light and crouched down to get a better view. The long laceration had jagged edges. Dried blood, scabs, and far too much dirt clung to the edges. Someone should have washed all that off, but wound care appeared to be a low priority here. Despite that, I could make out signs of healing. The wound had far more granulation tissue than expected given the time frame—the healing potion at work. However, the edges hadn’t even come close to approximating. The nature of the injury and his constant mining likely contributed to that, but unless I could get the edges together, it wouldn’t heal and would scar, though given the number he sported, he might care little about the latter.

  The swollen redness along the edges of the laceration raised the most concern. The dark green of his skin hid it, but he had induration. I would have to confirm the swelling and inflammation with an exam, but I now operated on the premise that he had an infection until proven otherwise. At least it didn’t reek, and he had no visible pus. I had seen worse, though those patients were non-ambulatory with a wound vac to help with healing. I didn’t even have the tools to properly irrigate and debride the wound.

  I set my pack down and pulled out my freshwater. Next, I should have pulled out two packs of sterile gloves, but I didn’t have alcohol or even soap. So, bare hands and water would have to suffice for sterile prep.

  “I’m going to examine it now. I am going to press on the edges. It may hurt some.“

  He said nothing as I worked my way along the wound, but his abdomen tensed regardless. He was guarding. So even if he didn’t say it, it hurt. I took care as I finished my exam. Warm and swollen, the tissue was indurated, but I found no fluctuance, which made an underlying abscess unlikely.

  Lucky with the way he cared for the wound.

  I needed more information on how healing potions functioned. They obviously accelerated the regeneration of whatever injured tissue they encountered, but were their limits on what they could affect—with microbes being my key concern? His wound was technically a superficial laceration, but for all I knew, it could have gone deeper. I couldn’t know if a claw had penetrated his abdominal cavity, not with the potion’s ability to erase any evidence of that. However, if the potion accelerated all types of growth, and the rodent’s claw seeded his abdomen with pathogens…?

  I suppressed a shudder. He didn’t appear septic. Nothing felt “off” about him. Still, better to confirm the best I could.

  “You haven’t had any fevers or chills, correct?“ I pressed on his abdomen. It yielded as much as a stone wall. He really should be lying down for this. ”Can you please relax your stomach?” It gave way to my pressure. I finished palpating the rest of his abdomen. It was reasonably soft. “No significant pain?”

  “Not with what you are doing. There is some discomfort at the wound when I bend, but that is it.”

  “Only discomfort?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.

  “Yes.”

  My eyes narrowed, but he didn’t correct himself. That didn’t seem possible. He should be in a bed, incapacitated and writhing in agony. I gave the wound one last pass, pressing on inflamed edges. It really was filthy. How could he stand—

  “Do you have a pain reduction skill?” His whole body became rigid.

  What? I hadn’t been pressed that hard—Aw, crap. That was probably sensitive information here.

  Way to build rapport, Daniel.

  “Don’t answer that,” I hurried. “And I apologize for asking. It was inappropriate.” I waited, and he relaxed a bit, though not to the degree as before my question.

  So, forgiven but not forgotten.

  I needed to set expectations. “I don’t know how things work with your [Healers], but where I am from, my class takes an oath. As part of it, I will keep whatever you tell me regarding your health confidential.” I raised a hand to forestall a response. “You are not obligated to tell me anything now or in the future. I will treat you regardless. I always will. That is part of my job—class. Also, I am new to this area and have much to learn about your people. If I ever overstep, please tell me.” I pulled out a potion from my pouch. “Now, let’s take care of the issue that brought you here.

  “I have one,” he replied.

  His potion was only a quarter full, and I would be damned before I took away his only backup.

  “Sure, but I have more, and the most dangerous thing I am facing is self-inflicted wounds.” Still, he hesitated. “Look, this wound is old. I don’t know how much I can help. Let me test it with mine, if it works, we can use yours. Does that seem acceptable?”

  He nodded reluctantly.

  “Good. Now lie down and try to relax your stomach. Then we can get started.”

  He did as I asked, and I prepared my supplies. His expression at washing my hands again was amusing if disheartening. Such an easy and basic hygiene method…

  I leaned in and found a spot to test. I put a single fingertip on the surface of the potion. The characteristic tingling spread along my skin.

  Did the intensity of the sensation mark its potency? Another question for another time. Focus on the job, Daniel.

  “I am going to apply a drop. This may burn or hurt.”

  A single drop clung to my finger. This would be the smallest amount I had ever used. I held my finger inches from the edge of his wound. Would it be enough?

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  I funneled Energy into [Enhance Medicinal] to compensate. As I increased the Energy, the drop vibrated until it fell from my fingertip. As the distance increased, so did the strain from using my skill. I almost lost the connection, but I managed to lower my finger to his skin in time to avoid losing the connection. The healing effects immediately tried to work on everything at once, but I managed to corral it.

  The wound started to heal, and I couldn’t help but frown. The healing differed from a fresh wound. The redness along the wound’s edge had worsened. I slid my finger over the length of the wound to get a better handle on the potion’s effect on the surrounding area. Some of the tissue had regenerated, but a generalized increase in swelling had accompanied that. Heat radiated from under the skin. By healing the wound, I had worsened the surrounding erythema. Worse, I picked up a “wrongness” that I could only describe as an acrid tang on the back of my tongue.

  A wonderful scale you’re creating, Daniel. I bet it would totally fly through peer review.

  I wanted to laugh, but I—and I would bet all my colleagues—would have the same ultimate concern: the swelling could signify an accelerating infection, not just healing.

  “—so little.”

  “What?” I stopped staring at the wound and paid attention to my patient.

  “I said that it seems to have worked despite how little you used.”

  “I’m not sure. I worry that I am causing an infection.” I sighed, the word clearly translating. “If I do more, I might cause the wound to fester. See the redness. It’s worse.”

  “That is normal. It happens from time to time. It never is an issue.”

  “How about in wounds this old?”

  “I do not know. Most have seen a [Healer] before this point.”

  “Which you cannot do?” I looked up in askance but got nothing. “Okay. I’m willing to try again, but as long as you understand that this wound may fester—“

  “What choice do I have?”

  A very clear one.

  “I won’t pretend to understand the complexities of your culture and your decision, but if this does fester, you may still need to go to the [Healer].”

  “But you think you can heal the wound completely?”

  “Yes. I can enhance the potion. It isn’t that deep, but I will need to clean the wound.”—Something that I should have done from the start—“That will likely burn.”

  “Do what you must.”

  I nodded. I grabbed the clean bandages from my bag and started to clean the wound. The wet bandages removed the dirt and old blood caked in the wound. I picked away at the scab, getting underneath and exposing the raw flesh. It took the rest of my water to wash out the wound. It wasn’t saline, but it did the job. The tissue lost its peppered coat.

  Half my bandages later, I sat back on my heels. “You bore that well.” It should have caused agony to someone back at home. He had flinched once. “If you are ready, I’m going to try this again.“

  I took another drop and tried it on the wound. The wrongness was there, but it was far less, so much less, that I could, with effort, restrict the potion from working on it. I tried to smile, but my mind always found a way to tarnish any success.

  Why didn’t I clean this wound in the first place?

  I had let the idea of magical healing seduce me into taking an easy solution, but potions had limits.

  Basics, Daniel. Basics. You can’t forget them, especially when you have nothing else.

  I could save self-recrimination for another time. For now, he deserved my full attention.

  I tested another drop, and the tissue regenerated, filling swaths of the cavity without any complications.

  Much better. I can do this.

  I studied the wound. It had come a long way from the swollen, angry, red slash across his torso. It still needed some work, but I had made dramatic progress with just a few dabs of the potion.

  Switch to his, or one more drop? Easy answer: the more I can save him, the better.

  “This is going to hurt.” He grunted but didn’t contract his abdominal muscles as I pinched both sides of the wound to approximate the edges. I took a heavy, two-finger dab of the sparkling, crimson liquid. I placed my fingers on the top corner of the wound. Pulled by gravity, the tiny rivulets cascaded through the valley of torn flesh. However, like water on parched earth, the potion threatened damage instead of rejuvenation.

  I traced the jagged course of the wound, calling forth the mysterious power [Enhance Medicinal] granted me over the iridescent, red liquid. The skill made manipulating the potion laughably easy—unlike times before. Amazingly, it allowed me to affect the potion as it trickled deeper into the wound and further from my finger. The liquid acted as a conduit, letting me project my will over a distance that surpassed my limits when illuminating a light stone. Thank goodness, because the potion needed significant direction.

  As the potion infused the depths of the wound, the acrid taste grew in the back of my mouth. Forcing the potion to avoid the “wrongness” and only work on the ?ttarsk tissue took another level of concentration. With each passing second, the dull ache behind my eyes grew into a throb. However, the wound was healing. The wrongness—no, it had to be bacteria multiplying—increased, but at a rate far too slow to concern me. As I became more familiar with the process, excluding the bacteria became easier.

  In seconds, the redness faded to the natural dark green color of his skin. I released the Energy and admired my work.

  Not bad if I do say so myself.

  I walked my fingers along the edge. Again, no fluctuance. Not even a hint of erythema.

  “I don’t think you will avoid scarring, probably because of the age of the wound, but it looks like it will be small.” Even a plastic surgeon couldn’t beat that, and I had only used a large dab.

  He looked down in disbelief. Even touching the healed skin didn’t fully dispel it. “How? You didn’t even use my potion.”

  I showed him the bottle. “I barely used any of mine.”

  “But you said you would.”

  Too much anger underpinned those words. He needed the potion more than I did. I did him a favor.

  Is this because I’m Human? No. Jumping there is presumptive.

  I forced myself to unclench my jaw. I replayed our discussion about the potion in my mind. He had shown reluctance to use my potion, and I had ignored the subtle signs. I had screwed up, stepping on a cultural landmine because of inattention.

  “Have I offended you?”

  “No. Worse—you put me in your debt.”

  No good deed goes unpunished. No, Daniel. It’s your job to provide culturally appropriate care, even if it’s a challenge.

  Still, they were a proud people. Too proud. This honor would grow old quickly, even if, as Dorian implied, it was the only thing that kept this camp from devolving into conflict.

  How the hell do I salvage this?

  “I’m so—”

  Wait a second. Despite what he thought, this hadn’t been a one-way interaction. If my negotiation with Kyria Rhaptis meant anything, experience mattered—a lot.

  “I think you have misunderstood the situation.” I raised a hand. “And before you object, let me explain. I pointed to the thin, dark, green line. “This was not guaranteed to occur. I am quite certain now that potions increase the risk of infe—festering.” I started counting off fingers. “First, that was new knowledge for me. Second, healing you let me learn how to combat this. And third, I think this will push me significantly closer towards a level.”

  He didn’t appear convinced.

  “Please believe me when I say this: the more I think about it, I should be asking you for forgiveness. You bore more risk than you think. While I got your consent initially, the risk changed midway. I didn’t even ask for your permission to proceed.”

  “As was your right as a [Healer]”

  “That is not how the [Healers] where I’m from work. I did you a disservice, one I’m hoping you will forgive.”

  He studied me for a long time. I sat on my toes waiting, stilling any urge to fidget. “You have a strange sense of honor, but I can agree to that.” He stood up, his concerns apparently mollified.

  “If there are any more wounds, please let me know.”

  He nodded. “I may take you up on that offer, but we will use my potion from the start.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “It was an honor, Daniel.” He paused as if trying to come to a decision. “And my name is R?gnor ?terj?rt.”

  With that, he walked away, leaving me with a pile of bloody bandages, an empty flask of water, and something I hadn’t felt in far too long. Purpose.