Thessalia POV

She sat in Azandra’s healing space and let the sacred sounds of Tulaska’s medicine rattle wash over her.

Calyx sat holding her hands while Azandra chanted, using an old wood elf and Druid mantra. “My tree is strong enough to bend with the kindly wind when it needs to and stand firm when storms threaten to rip it out by the roots.”

The gentle shaking of the medicine rattle and the thumping of the sacred drum lulled her into breathing properly for the ...