"Will, Leo, just a bit, and we'll get there," said the middle-aged woman, looking inside the cart that carried her husband and son.
They had a horrible fever and even horrible wounds.
Her husband's wound was a shallow one on his thigh, but after three days of skipping around, saying that he was fine, the wound got worse.
It began spreading like a black spider's web along his thigh.
The wound itself got blacker and blacker.
To the point that even his flesh and blood, which never stopped flowing out of his body, were getting blacker.
And the smell coming off of him.
Rot smells wonderful in comparison to the smell he and her son excluded.
Her son… Ah, her handsome son.
He wanted to be brave.
To be a warrior like his father.
He tried for days to convince her to let him fight. To be a hero.
One he had heard so many stories about.
So, when he heard that Morois were attacking the village we lived in, he was the first to offer to defend our home.
And defended he did.
Only until the Morois arrived.
He was the first to get wounded. A simple slap across his chest left him with three gushing wounds from the Moroi, sending him flying tens of feet until he crashed into the side of one of the houses.
The wounds started slowly.
Wounds, which were now just as black and festering as his father's.
"Damn Noble Bloods," muttered the man acting as the coachman.
He was her brother-in-law. Her son's uncle.
"Let it go, Drei. They didn't start this war," said the woman beside him, seated at the front of the cart that was being pulled by a single horse.
"No, fuck that, Emma. This all happened because they see us as cattle. Because they keep us weak. They keep the Raw Vita all to themselves. We do not even know how to harvest the damn thing. And now we run like scared dogs, to my old mother to heal her dying son and grandson," said Drei.
"They are not dying," said Emma.
"...You are right, I'm sorry. But that does not change the truth that it's their fault. It's their fault for this war. And it's their fault we are this weak."
Emma stood silent, looking back for the hundredth time at her son and husband.
Her brother-in-law was not wrong. She knew he wasn't.
Even though the Noble Bloods protected their domain like a dragon protects its riches, what happens when that Noble Blood dies or is captured?
Massacres.
Rapes.
Thievery.
All the sins of mankind are what happen when nobody is there to control them.
Raw Vita is too potent a power to be competed against.
And not having it, especially in the face of a cursed being as a Moroi, is akin to sending pigs to the slaughter.
A hundred commoners would not be able to kill a Moroi head-on.
And her husband and son are proof.
If that proof is not enough, one can go check the mass grave that holds half their village.
They were lucky enough that a horn resounded from far away, which made the Morois go back to the fucking nightmare they came from and leave them alone.
"Do you think they will make it?" asked Drei.
"They have to. They absolutely have to. Or by the Vita I will…" muttered Emma.
"You are right," nodded Drei to her, "We are close either way. Mother can heal them like no other."
"Yes, mother-in-law sure is talented," smiled Emma, looking to the road ahead.
If one were to bask in the silence and the beauty of the scenery on the road they were on, they would say that no war has ever happened.
The sky was clear, the warmth that of early summer, even though they were in the middle of spring.
The mighty Golden Forest to the left of their cart loomed like giants looking over them.
And the greenery in front of them gave Emma the peace she needed not to start crying again.
She was a mother. A wife.
It was unfair to see her son wounded.
To see her husband helpless as he shivered from his fever.
Unfair indeed. Unfair from the Vita and the world itself.
What sins did they have for such a thing to happen to them?
How was this fair?
She knew none would have the answer to her question.
So she kept looking forward as the horse walked and prayed that her mother-in-law would know what she felt.
After all, she was also a mother. Once, she was also a wife.
Who but a mother can understand the pain of a mother? Who but a wife can understand another?
And an hour or so later, Drei spoke again.
"We are here," he said as he got down from the front of the cart, pulling the horse using its harness up the hill.
"It's quiet," said Emma, looking between the small trees that held her mother-in-law's cottage hidden.
"No worries, maybe she is just out to gather materials, as always. She used to do that a lot in our youth. Once she went for days in the mountains to look for a flower, leaving us all alone," giggled Drei as he remembered his childhood.
"Wouldn't that put her to death if a Noble Blood found her?" Emma asked.
"Of course it would, but she was never found," Drei shrugged, going towards the back of the cart. "Come, let's drag this nephew of mine inside."
"I hope she will be back soon," muttered Emma as Drei got inside the cart to pull her son by his hands.
As they grabbed him, Leo began grunting in pain.
"Come on, Leo, we are here. You will be fine, listen to your mother, you will be fine and strong,"
"Ma," Leo tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and the delirium from the fever he was in made his eyes hard to locate her.
But as they went with him inside, Drei grabbing him by his armpits, and Emma by his legs, they found the place as it always was.
Full of herbs and rocks that Emma did not know their use of.
But she at least knew they were all important to something.
But one thing was off.
There was nobody there.
A letter was on the table near the bed where they placed Leo.
The letter was held in place by a vial full of purple liquid.
Emma moved the vile away and picked the letter up.
It was written thus:
[My beloved family,
War has come to these parts, and unfortunately, I had to escape.
The vial you see with purple liquid is the vial that can remove the curse.
On the next page, you will find how to administer it to the wound.
Some more vials on the table can help with your recovery and the fever from the wounds.
I am sorry it had to be like this, and that I am not able to heal you all. I had to run so the cottage would not be found.
But do not fear, I will write you when I find a new place to live.
If I do not write back, I am sorry.
Just know that I have you all in my heart.
Signed,
An old loving mother.]