The morning mist hung low over the mountain, curling around the newly finished path like a soft white blanket. Children ran ahead, chasing each other and laughing, while the adults carried tools and supplies up to the huts. Anna walked with Kate near the edge of the clearing, enjoying the cool air and the quiet hum of life in motion.
Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out from above, echoing through the slopes. Anna's heart jumped. She dropped the basket of herbs she was carrying and ran, Kate clutching her hand.
A small crowd had gathered near a rocky ledge. There, a boy of about twelve had fallen while climbing a tree to retrieve some fruit. He was lying on the ground, his face pale, eyes wide with pain, and one leg bent at an unnatural angle.
"Help! Help!" he gasped. The adults quickly surrounded him, careful not to jostle him further. Mike and Kehnu crouched beside him, steadying him while the women and children stepped back.
Anna arrived just as the elder lady, known for her knowledge of healing, pushed through the crowd. "We must move him gently," she said, voice calm but firm. "Down to the shaman hut. There, we can tend to him properly."
With care, several strong men lifted the boy onto a stretcher of woven reeds and light bamboo. Anna walked beside them, whispering soothing words. Kate held her hand tightly, her eyes wide but trusting her mother.
The descent was slow and tense. Every rock and uneven patch of the path required careful navigation. The boy groaned and clenched his teeth, tears streaking his dirt-smudged face. Anna sprinkled cool water on his forehead and rubbed his arms gently, murmuring, "It's alright, stay calm, breathe. We're here."
By the time they reached the shaman hut at the base of the mountain, the boy's pain was intense, and his leg clearly broken. The elder lady led Anna inside, arranging soft mats and blankets to cushion him. Smoke from dried herbs filled the hut, carrying the faint, calming aroma of mint, chamomile, and other forest plants.
Anna knelt beside the boy, gently taking his hand. "I'm here," she said softly. "You're safe now." The boy's fingers gripped hers, trembling.
Together with the elder lady, Anna examined the leg. It was bent in an unnatural angle, the swelling already starting. There was no modern medicine, no painkillers—only knowledge of herbs, splints, and careful hands.
"Bind it first," the elder lady instructed. She handed Anna strips of soft bark and pliable vines. Anna carefully wrapped the leg, stabilizing it with small sticks as a makeshift splint. The boy flinched and cried out, but Anna murmured, "I know it hurts… I know it hurts… breathe with me. You are brave."
Once the leg was supported, the elder lady prepared a poultice of crushed leaves and roots—plants known in the tribe to dull pain and reduce swelling. She carefully applied it to the boy's leg, while Anna held his other hand and whispered encouragements. The bitter, earthy smell filled the hut, and the boy's groans softened slightly as the cooling herbs took effect.
Kehnu arrived at the doorway, quietly observing the care. "He's lucky," he said softly to Anna. "You and the elder… you both have steady hands."
Anna nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair from the boy's forehead. "He's strong, he'll endure. We'll help him rest and heal. That's all we can do now."
Outside, the tribe waited patiently, giving space but murmuring quietly among themselves. They had seen falls, cuts, and scrapes before, but the boy's pain reminded them how fragile life was in the mountains. Yet, there was trust—trust in their knowledge, in the care of elders and Anna, and in the tools and herbs of their growing civilization.
Hours passed. The boy lay quietly, occasionally wincing, but calm enough to let the herbs soothe him. Anna stayed by his side, gently rubbing his hand and forehead, checking the splint, adjusting the blankets, and whispering songs to comfort him. The elder lady nodded approvingly. "You have a gift," she said. "Not just in hands, but in heart."
As dusk fell and the mountain shadowed the jungle in cool darkness, the boy finally relaxed. Sleep overtook him, broken only by the occasional grunt of discomfort. Anna remained beside him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
Outside, the village continued its rhythm—fires lit, children playing safely near the cleared area, adults preparing food—but inside the shaman hut, there was a quiet triumph. Knowledge, patience, and care had tamed pain, if only for a moment. And Anna knew that with herbs, splints, and time, the boy would walk again, stronger for having been held, soothed, and protected by the tribe.