In the room atop Ashlynn's tower, Isabell lay on a pile of cushions, listening to the increasingly loud patter-patter sound of rain on the tower's tile roof and the crackle of the small hearth that warmed the large, communal space. Not far from her, standing on a stool in order to peer into a small cast iron cauldron, Heila stirred a thick creamy liquid that smelled of mint and something else bright and fresh that Isabell couldn't identify.
"What is that aroma? Mint and something else?" Isabell asked, turning her head slightly to the side to watch Heila work. Her confrontation with Ashlynn had taken far more out of her than she realized at the time, and she felt like she finally understood the soldiers she'd seen staggering back to camp with terrible wounds who claimed that they didn't feel anything until the fighting stopped.
