Dustrim Village
"Boil all water—drinking, bathing, everything," Kael said firmly.
"Cover the sick with netting if you can. Keep lanterns burning to drive away the bugs."
The priest stared at him. "It won't cure them."
"No," Kael replied. "But it might stop others from getting sick. And maybe… give them a fighting chance."
The priest didn't argue, but his silence was heavy. The two older physickers nearby exchanged uncertain glances. Both were seasoned—one had gray streaks in his beard, and the other leaned on a cane. Kael could feel the doubt hanging in the air.
They watched Kael like he was a bold child who didn't yet know when to hold his tongue.
It was hard to imagine anyone obeying a young man's orders—unless he bore a title or came from a powerful bloodline.
Finally, one of them—bent-backed but sharp-eyed—spoke.
"You talk like you've cured plague before," he said.
