Petal.

I worked until my hands ached, my back screaming in protest, yet I refused to stop.

The scent of crushed sage and feverfew clung to my hair, mixing with the sharp tang of blood and sickness that seemed to seep into every stone of the pack’s infirmary.

It had been three days since I’d discovered the poisoned water. Three days of endless fevers, shivering bodies, and the rasp of shallow breathing.

The pack’s healer had collapsed on the first night, and without thinking, I’d ...