“Barlo!” Iadrawyn greeted in her melodic voice. “What has brought you to our wood?”
“Narilga is sick,” Barlo blurted before flushing. “I’m sorry, my lady. That wasn’t a proper greeting, was it?”
Iadrawyn gave a wave of dismissal. “We are friends, are we not? Now tell me everything.”
Barlo’s shoulders slumped in relief. “It’s a fever,” he said. “It’s spread all through Dwarvenhome. I even had it for a few days. Most dwarves seem to get better, but some have died. Narilga seems to be getting worse. She has a horrible cough that hurts her chest. Even when she sleeps all day, she wakes up exhausted. None of the herbs our healers have tried seem to help. I didn’t know what to do, but Sinstari convinced me to come here.”
Iadrawyn leaned forward. “Does her coughing sound dry or wet?”
“Wet. S
