CIARA’S POV
The healer's chambers smelled like dried herbs and something else I couldn't place. Something old and earthy. She sat across from me at a wooden table worn smooth by countless hands. My own hands trembled in my lap.
"What I did back there," I started, then stopped. The words felt thick in my throat. "That wasn't healing."
She nodded slowly. "No. It wasn't."
"Then what was it?"
The healer was quiet for a long moment. She stared at her hands, turning them over like she was seeing them for the first time. When she finally looked up, her eyes held a weight I'd never noticed before.
"The rot," she said simply.
"The rot?"
"There is a time to heal and a time to destroy." Her voice carried the cadence of old wisdom, like she was reciting something passed down through generation
