Isudora

Oh bother, out again! Did I not just restock half-a-moon ago? I frown as I stare at the wall of my abode, although perhaps 'hovel' would be a more appropriate description of my dwellings. Made of thick, dead branches half-buried in the ground and insulated with dried mud, my self-constructed house provides little more than meager protection from woodland predators and a place to store what little I have to my name. My poverty, however, is not the reason for my frown. In fact, I have gladly chosen to live as an ascetic deep within the woods, finding peace in simplicity and nature. The reason for my frown is far more mundane, only caused by my noticing that my supply of medicinal herbs is running low, which I keep on 'shelves' made of sticks embedded in my mud walls.

"Ah, but it's no problem." I say to myself - I've found that talking to oneself is necessary to not lose one's speech when living so remotely as I do, "A little walk through the woods never hurt anyone. It's a lovely day, and I was hoping to do some birdwatching anyway."

I strap my satchel over my shoulder and wrap my cowl around me, pulling up the hood. As much as I would like to coexist perfectly with nature, I do understand the necessity of these few, basic things. The cloth of my cloak, once a deep brown, has long been a light beige from continued exposure to the sun and is torn in several spots, but replacing it is no impossible. I was distanced from civilized society many years ago, and I've happily remained so ever sense. Exiting my hut, the crisp air and song of birds greets me eagerly, reminding me of what makes my life in the forest special. But my brow furrows as soon as I notice the slight differences in pitch and frequency among avian friend's melodies. It's not a sound of panic, but is definitely the relying of a warning, the subtle sign of a disturbance somewhere in the forest.

"What's wrong, my friends?" I muse, trying to gauge where the origin point of the warning calls, "Did something unusual happen somewhere? It's rare I see you all so excited."

I decide to direct my foraging towards the source of whatever it is that's made the birds so animated today. In all likelihood, it's just a clumsy bear who bumped into a tree a little bit too hard and spooked its inhabitants, but the forest has a funny way of subverting my expectations at times. Regardless, my curiosity has already sprouted, and I'm not one to turn down a little foray. Moseying through the forest with a gentle rhythm so as not to further upset the local fauna, I take frequent pauses to gather nuts, berries, mushrooms, and of course the coveted medical herbs that I need to restock. I feel no urgent need to arrive at my destination, but I can tell I'm getting closer to what has the birds excited. There's something different in the air, a faint... a faint smell. My nostrils flare out as I try to pick it up, but it's not until a sudden change in the direction of the wind truly catch its first wispy threads of malodor. Carried on the gossiping breeze is the undeniable scent of sweat and sickness, and I feel my pupils dialate.

"This smell is not part of the forest I know..." I ponder, my nose seeming to take on a life of its own as it tries to pick up more of the pungent aroma, "And animals don't sweat... How unusual."

I set off immediately with a briskness in my pace that was not present before, my peaceful gait gone now. I skillfully duck and dive through the dense undergrowth with a practiced precision that was developed only after years of hermitic living. The dense shrubbery and barring branches are not obstructions to me but rather guideposts, the forest's secret language of showing where I should veer to find open spaces and firm ground. The scent is growing stronger now, tenaciously clinging to the roof of my mouth as I breathe it in. A normal person might find it foul, but I find it oddly enticing. As I close quickly on it's source the eerie silence of the birds speaks volumes about the alien intrusion of another into my wooded sanctuary. Finally bursting into a clearing, the sight of the pale, fever-ridden body of a traveler resting unconscious against a rock causes me to gasp out loud. Who could this stranger be so deep in the forest? A merchant? An adventurer? Or maybe just a lost hiker? Someone badly in need of my aid, no doubt.

"Oh, poor traveler!" I exclaim, feeling a strong flare of concern along with the faint undertones of something far less noble, "You are unwell. I cannot leave you here like this. This forest claims many; this is true, but it need not be your time just yet. You are lucky I found you when I did!"

Coming closer and bending down, I check the traveler's temperature, feeling a distressingly high heat underneath my palm. Despite my internal worrying, I can't help but press my nose against the stranger's sweat-soaked hair, inhaling the intoxicating scent until I start to feel lightheaded. I feel a strong urge to lick the salty sweat off this person's flesh right here, but I sternly remind myself that a life is in danger and hoist the unconscious body onto my back. My knees weaken from both exertion and desire as I feel the overheated body pressing down on mine. And yet I dutifully endure, taking labored steps all the way back to my hut over the course of nearly an hour. Upon my return, I place the traveler on a bed of leaves, one which is surprisingly soft despite it's patchwork design.

"It's all going to be okay, stranger. The forest has smiled upon you today. I don't know who you are or what brought you through my woods, but you are in good hands." I reassure the unconscious form, taking the chance that the stranger might be able to hear my voice in a dream, "You can recover. I know you can."

Cursing inwardly that I didn't have time to gather more herbs, I mash together what little I do have, mixing it with water collected in a bucket from a nearby river. The green paste that I'm making probably tastes awful, but the sick stranger isn't in a condition to protest being fed by me. Tearing off a piece of my increasingly flimsy cowl and dipping it in the bucket, I use the makeshift rag to wipe down face of the stranger, feeling the outermost skin begin to cool through the paper-thin fabric. Although as I tend to the fevered frame before me, I feel something that's more than concern stirring within me.

"Please wake up, traveler." I plead, growing worried regarding the long period of unresponsiveness, "You are very feverish. I need you to stay strong while I cool you off."