Oisin carefully poured the last of the dark, thick fluid from the large bowl where he’d mixed it into the little glass jar. He stoppered the jar and set it inside a small leather case with a long carry strap, beside several other jars. With a satisfied nod he regarded the doses of his sovereign specific, ready to be carried with him everywhere he went. He wouldn’t be caught without the ability to heal again. The potions wouldn’t have done Bel any good, but still he’d rather have them than wish he did.
He surveyed his other jars, and selected a wound-healing potion, noting he should make more of that as well, and a few other potentially useful things and tucked them into the case too. Then he slung the strap over his shoulder and nodded. He would take it with him every time he left Bel’s d
