The days after the raid carried a strange unease. By day the villagers spoke of courage and ancestors, their voices carrying pride, but at night their laughter broke into silence at the smallest sound. No one admitted it, yet fear lingered like smoke that clung to every hut.
Kael used the silence well. He had gathered herbs from the battlefield, each one marked by the touch of blood. Some leaves curled unnaturally. Some sap burned his skin. Each fragment whispered of uses the others could not imagine.
Behind the storage huts, he built a small fire hidden from wandering eyes. He crushed leaves and seeds between stones, mixing powders with water, smearing them over scratches in his skin. Some eased pain, some worsened it, and once he nearly blistered his hand beyond use. Yet every mistake was another step forward.
Unbeknownst to Kael, Haron, one of the tribe's seasoned hunters, had noticed his secretive work. Haron leaned on his spear one night, watching the boy from the shadows. Kael's discipline was unlike any child's play. There was no wild energy, no careless laughter, only careful testing, slow patterns of thought. Haron did not interrupt, but a weight settled in his chest. This boy was not like the others.
Others spoke less kindly.
Dagan, the broad-shouldered youth who often led the other boys, saw Kael crouched by the fire. His lips curled with scorn. "The orphan brews curses," he whispered to his friends. "This is why the ancestors frown upon us. He poisons our air." The rumor spread swiftly, carried by eager tongues.
Seris, the matriarch whose words carried weight even among the elders, did not hide her suspicion. "He lingers where death fell. He gathers what no child should touch. The ancestors are not blind," she declared, her eyes hard whenever they met Kael's.
Even Mira, whose child had been saved unknowingly by Kael's salve, looked away when he passed. Gratitude was dangerous when directed toward a boy so widely feared.
Kael noticed the stares but gave them no answer. That night, he smeared a new paste across a fresh cut, and the wound sealed faster than it should have. He watched the fire flicker across his work with calm satisfaction.
Knowledge could heal. Knowledge could kill. And it could be hidden.
He left the hollow with smoke trailing behind him, his mind quiet while the tribe's whispers grew louder.