[Bêthberry]

While the others were setting up camp for the night, Bethberry strolled over to Alearindu, to check upon the dagger wound. Gandalf had been right; the wound was not deep and luckily for Alearindu, the days' journey had not disturbed the dressing nor brought forth new bleeding.

"It looks well, no strange swelling, no tender flesh, no new bleeding. Does it pain you much?" she asked Alearindu, who smiled calmly and denied any difficulties. Bethberry treated the cut with more herbal tincture and changed the dressing, satisfied it was healing well.

A few words later, Bethberry retreated to the campfire where she watched Holly and Gandalf prepare for their observation of the Castle. She was happy that no one observed her own stiff side and somewhat laboured breathing. She had not been able to warm herself by the campfire last night after returning from the stream where she had watched Nardol through his healing ritual. Nor had the exertions of the day warmed her any further.

And now by the fire she felt her bones still cold from the stream despite the feverish sweat breaking out on her brow and around her neck. Breathing brought a sharp pain in her side, and no sense of fresh air in her lungs. She shivered and wrapped her cloak more tightly around her, moving closer still to the fire and taking with thanks a cup of the spiced tea which Andreth had prepared. She felt weak and for the first time began to feel that she would fail this mission.

The secrets of the herb garden might yet remain lost in the ages past if she could not shake off this illness. "Perhaps," Bethberry thought to herself, "my role this journey was never to achieve the garden. Perhaps I have accomplished what was meant to be, to show Nardol a way to whatever healing he might be able to find."

Bethberry drifted off to a kind of wakeful doze, overcome by the fever which was coming on.

[ January 23, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]