Page 50 of X'nath

“Is there anything I can do?” My voice held a touch of desperation. “I hate seeing him like this.”

Borba sighed, her hands pausing in their work. “He needs a poultice. It’ll ease the pain and help with the healing, but convincing him to take it… well, that’s the challenge. He’s as proud as you, dear.”

I blinked, surprised. “Proud? I’m not?—”

She raised an eyebrow and gave me a knowing smile. “You’re as stubborn as he is. You carry it in the way you speak and act. But if you truly want to help him, you’ll need to see the herbalist.”

“The herbalist?” I echoed, a bit confused. “What does he have to do with it?”

Borba gestured toward the edge of the village. “The herbalist, Old Barak. He’s the one who has what you need.”

I didn’t want to get into the details of my previous encounters with Barak, especially the awkward way he’d started claiming to be courting me. That was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have.

I thanked Borba and made my way to Old Barak’s shop.

When I arrived, I was greeted by the sight of plants in every direction, all of them fighting for attention in the cluttered yard. Old Barak himself was there, moving around the plants with surprising grace.

“Gracie!” he exclaimed, his hands coming together in a clap. “Back again, I see. What brings you to my humble abode?”

I kept my expression neutral, trying not to let him get under my skin. I wasn’t here for games. “I need a poultice for X’nath,” I said simply. “He won’t accept help from anyone.”

Barak’s eyes twinkled with something that looked like amusement. “Ah, X’nath. A fine young warrior, but a fool. Borba sent you, didn’t she?”

I hesitated, eyeing him. How did he know that? Was there something going on behind the scenes that I wasn’t aware of?

“Something to help his wounds heal faster,” I replied, my gaze flicking to the shelves around me filled with odd concoctions. “The healer said you’d have it.”

“Of course,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve got exactly what you need.” He moved with surprising speed, collecting a few jars from his cluttered workspace. “But there’s a choice to be made first.”

“A choice?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “What kind of choice?”

Barak grinned. “To brew this poultice, you’ll need to pick one of two ingredients. There’s a flower known for its soothing properties, or a root that speeds up healing but has a pungent odor.”

“Pungent?” I raised an eyebrow. “Which would you recommend?”

“The flower for comfort, the root for effectiveness. But the root... well, it might take a strong stomach.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll go with the flower.”

“Wise choice,” he said, still chuckling as he gathered the herbs. “No one wants to be dealing with a stinky poultice.”

As he worked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. X’nath’s injuries weren’t healing, and he was too proud to accept help. This was my chance to step outside my pride, to offer him something without him needing to admit his weakness. If I could manage that, perhaps we’d both save face.

With the poultice prepared, I thanked Barak and hurried back to the village, clutching the bundle tightly. I had no idea how this was going to go. I just knew I had to try.

As I approached X’nath’s home, I spotted him standing in the doorway, talking with some of his comrades. His posture was relaxed, but the sight of his injuries made my stomach twist. I took a deep breath and steeled myself.

This was it. Time to put my pride aside and offer him something, even if he would never acknowledge it. And perhaps, in doing so, we could finally stop dancing around each other’s stubbornness.

I took a deep breath before walking up to X’nath, still surrounded by his comrades. The laughter and light banter carried through the air, and for a moment, I hesitated. It wasn’t easy for me to step into their circle—especially when X’nath was the center of attention. But something inside me pushed me forward.

“X’nath,” I said, my voice more composed than I felt. “Can we speak in private for a moment?”

Though I was picking up Orcish quickly, there were still a few words I stumbled over, like “private.” The mistake made my cheeks flush with embarrassment, and irritation simmered beneath the surface.

The others paused their joking, turning to glance between us with raised eyebrows and smirks, speaking in rapid Orcish. I could only catch a few phrases here and there.

“Ah, looks like your female’s got something serious to say,” one of them teased, his voice laced with amusement.

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