Page 63 of Salt Between the Wolves

"There you are."

Varda's voice carried the same calm steadiness Eira remembered, with no hesitation, no caution, and none of the careful neutrality she had grown accustomed to receiving from others—only recognition.

Eira crossed the room.

"I need a few things."

Varda set aside the herbs.

"What sort of things?"

Eira had prepared the answer long before arriving.

"Bandages."

The woman nodded.

"More of the salve you gave me before."

She nodded again.

"Dried willow bark. Something for fever. Something for muscle strain."

Varda remained silent as she moved toward the shelves.

Eira continued.

"And something for cold exposure."

That finally earned a glance that seemed not suspicious but merely thoughtful.

The old woman began gathering the requested supplies without comment, placing them one by one onto the table between them: bandages, a small jar of salve, packets of dried herbs, then another jar and another after that, until the collection had grown into a respectable pile.

Eira watched her hands while the healer appeared to watch nothing at all, or at least nothing openly.

When the last item had been added to the pile, Varda rested both palms against the table.

"You're planning quite an expedition."

The words were delivered mildly enough that they might have meant nothing, and Eira forced herself not to react.

"I prefer being prepared."

"So does every traveler."

The answer came easily—perhaps too easily.

For a moment neither spoke as the healer's gaze drifted over the supplies and then returned to Eira. Whatever she noticed remained unspoken, and for that alone Eira felt grateful.

The old woman eventually returned to sorting the items into a leather satchel.

"You've lost weight."

Eira frowned.

"I have not."

"You have."