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The girl struggles, thrashing what little moment she can.
The two men carry her from the room. Their eyes were full of tears.
“Hurry. You must make it to a grassy patch otherwise the consequences will be dire,” warns Chiron.
The infirmary holds a cold chill. “What’s going to happen to her?” I asked.
“She'll revert to her primordial form. The dryad will be stuck, remaining as a shifted tree,” Chiron sighs while rubbing his temples. “From the looks of it, she’s either a wisteria or lilac tree.”
Playing with the hem of my blanket, I fidget as I ask, “Is it the plague? Is that what’s causing her to… well become a tree?”
Dressing down the bed, he pulls off the sheets to the nymph’s bed. “Yes.”
I sat up, taking in what the centaur told me. “And how does this relate to healing potions?”
“They’ve become inert. I have tried it nearly one thousand times to no avail,” Chiron states in an exasperated tone.
Sitting down at his desk, he rubs his temples.
Curious. Why would a potion suddenly stop working? “I used to brew them when I was back at home. Would you like me to give it a shot?”
The healer nods. “I suppose that I don’t see a problem with it. It may be greatly helpful to narrow down if it’s directly me or a greater issue.”
Swinging my legs over the bed, I flatten my hospital gown before standing. Approaching the preparation table, I tie up my hair and set to work on the healing potions. Setting out the proportion of water, lavender, and the other proper ingredients.
I flick on the heat for the caldron. I wait for the rolling boil before setting to work adding my ingredients.
Plucking the petals from the plant, I count out thirteen pieces.
One dollop of honey goes into the heated caldron.
Ingredient by ingredient I run down my list. At this point I have fully memorized the process. Chiron sits looking over my shoulder. Not in an intrusive way but staring at me with a look filled with hope.
Grasping the wooden stirring rod, I count my proper tempo before pulling the potion away from the heat. As we wait for the potion to cool, I grasp a cutting edge.
“Looks like a very well done potion,” he muses. “I'll send for a specimen to test the potion on.” The hope is audible in his voice. He wants this to work as bad as I do.
Shaking my head, I reply, “No need.” Dragging the scapple across the palm of my hand, Chiron flinches at the sight of my blood.
“Why did you do that?” The centaur rubs his temples.
I shrug. “I'm impatient.”
The blood pools in my hand. I soak up the excess blood with the gauze. Snatching a ladle, scoop a couple of drops into the basin and drop a pool of liquid in my hand.
Nothing happened.
My eyes grew wide.
My bleeding continues as I exclaim, “What in Hades! I have made this potion probably a hundred times.”
He sighs, “I was hopeful but knew that this was the likely outcome. Go sit down and I'll bind up your hand.”
Plopping down on my bed, my brain is spinning, contemplating ways to diagnose the problem.
Grasping my hand, Chiron disinfects my palm and dresses my wound. “You need to take it easy. Absolutely no getting up to trouble,” Chiron shakes a finger at me. “If I hear of you doing strenuous activity for the next three days, I'll send Athena and Apollo after you.”
Part of me wants Apollo sent after me. A part buried so deep that I try to ignore it. After all, nothing good could come of those thoughts. Thoughts of him holding me. Pressed against me. His weight is like a protective blanket as he lays over me.
