Elixirs for Silence (January 3010) - [Heruthain]
Mar 11, 2018 19:56:20 GMT -5
Post by Adelais on Mar 11, 2018 19:56:20 GMT -5
Night shifts were always the hardest to get through. The quiet of the Healing Hall was stifling, for while the patients were never fully silent, the ladies who tended them were supposed to be. Adelais was one of them tonight, and while she was not the only one present it felt like it. Romilda and some of the other girls were on call as well; some were mopping the floor, others checking on the patients sleeping on the various occupied cots. Oda, the Matron of the Hall, was there as well, though she was shuffling about the back, presumably to work on order forms for the morning shift to run to the apothecary in town.
The Hall was never empty, nor still.
Bandages needed to be changed whether the sun was up or not, and rounds of treatments needed to continue their cycles into the night. This night, though, the beds were nearly empty and only a handful of women were tending the needs of their overnight patients.
Adelais was one of the girls working to resupply the medicinal cabinets with the elixirs that they had been using recently, and before her was an array of ingredients. Brennevin and ample amounts of the butterbur leaves were sprawling over her work table in the back corner of the Healing Hall, the cauldron upon the table beside.
Winter had brought with it a multitude of coughs, and the butterbur elixir was enough to help calm the throat, and ease the chest. January’s cold winds moaned across the thatch roof of the Healing Hall, as if the very air outside was in need of the healers’ care.
Dawn was soon to be approaching, and the twelve hours shuffling about in quiet was taking its toll. Adelais uncorked another bottle of brennevin, beginning to pour it into the cauldron with abandon.
She loathed the long nights; they felt empty. Dead. Perhaps it was just as bad as being in her house. Her heart ached at the thought of the small, empty quiet of a place that at one point had indeed been a home. It had been years—why did it still hurt?
“Ads, by the time I’m back it will only be a few months before we’re together. Forever, the way we want it. I’m a lucky man.”
Adelais grimaced, and intrinsically brought the bottle of brennevin to her lips and nursed a long sip for herself. The fire of the clear liquid washed down her throat, even the first drop sending a peace into her tired limbs.
The young woman, though, gasped, dropping the bottle from her lips quickly and casting her pale eye about to make sure that none had seen. It was not, perhaps, the first drink she had taken at work—they were usually taken at the end of her night shifts, when dawn was fast approaching and the quiet had wounded her the night over—but it was the first time she had done so in an area so open before.
She needed the job; she could not afford to lose it.
Quickly she emptied the last of the bottle into the cauldron, taking the butterbur and tossing it inside as well before finding a lid to cover the mixture. A few days it would steep, and then the throat and cough relief would be ready for use with the patients.
Anxiously, Adelais looked to the window, the paleness of dawn was quickly approaching. Soon, she breathed in relief. She could go home. Perhaps there was silence there, but she would not have to listen to it long.
The Hall was never empty, nor still.
Bandages needed to be changed whether the sun was up or not, and rounds of treatments needed to continue their cycles into the night. This night, though, the beds were nearly empty and only a handful of women were tending the needs of their overnight patients.
Adelais was one of the girls working to resupply the medicinal cabinets with the elixirs that they had been using recently, and before her was an array of ingredients. Brennevin and ample amounts of the butterbur leaves were sprawling over her work table in the back corner of the Healing Hall, the cauldron upon the table beside.
Winter had brought with it a multitude of coughs, and the butterbur elixir was enough to help calm the throat, and ease the chest. January’s cold winds moaned across the thatch roof of the Healing Hall, as if the very air outside was in need of the healers’ care.
Dawn was soon to be approaching, and the twelve hours shuffling about in quiet was taking its toll. Adelais uncorked another bottle of brennevin, beginning to pour it into the cauldron with abandon.
She loathed the long nights; they felt empty. Dead. Perhaps it was just as bad as being in her house. Her heart ached at the thought of the small, empty quiet of a place that at one point had indeed been a home. It had been years—why did it still hurt?
“Ads, by the time I’m back it will only be a few months before we’re together. Forever, the way we want it. I’m a lucky man.”
Adelais grimaced, and intrinsically brought the bottle of brennevin to her lips and nursed a long sip for herself. The fire of the clear liquid washed down her throat, even the first drop sending a peace into her tired limbs.
The young woman, though, gasped, dropping the bottle from her lips quickly and casting her pale eye about to make sure that none had seen. It was not, perhaps, the first drink she had taken at work—they were usually taken at the end of her night shifts, when dawn was fast approaching and the quiet had wounded her the night over—but it was the first time she had done so in an area so open before.
She needed the job; she could not afford to lose it.
Quickly she emptied the last of the bottle into the cauldron, taking the butterbur and tossing it inside as well before finding a lid to cover the mixture. A few days it would steep, and then the throat and cough relief would be ready for use with the patients.
Anxiously, Adelais looked to the window, the paleness of dawn was quickly approaching. Soon, she breathed in relief. She could go home. Perhaps there was silence there, but she would not have to listen to it long.