Over the following days, word of the "doctor" began to spread through the settlement. People whispered about my arrival and the way I'd cured the boy. A few bolder souls came forward, seeking help with ailments they'd thought untreatable. Most cases were minor, things I would have treated in my sleep back home—cuts, infections, fevers. But to these people, every cure seemed like a miracle.
One afternoon, while foraging in the nearby forest, I stumbled upon an odd plant with dark red leaves and tiny, white blossoms. Back home, this would have been classified as something like spilanthes—a plant with medicinal properties if handled correctly. I knelt down, examining its texture and scent. It had potential as an anti-inflammatory, or perhaps even a pain reliever.
I gathered a few sprigs, tucking them carefully into my satchel, and made my way back to the village. Once there, I began experimenting, combining the plant with water to create a paste. After testing a small amount on myself, I realized it could indeed reduce pain and swelling when applied directly to the skin.
Excited by the discovery, I decided to try it out on the next patient who came to me—a man with a swollen, twisted ankle from a hunting accident. He winced as I applied the paste, but within moments, his pain had visibly eased, his shoulders relaxing. He looked at me in shock, as though I'd performed some impossible feat.
"I never thought... this plant was useless," he muttered.
"Not useless," I replied, packing away the remaining herbs. "Just misunderstood."
The realization washed over me: this world held countless plants they saw as weeds or decoration. I saw potential, treatments, even cures. With every new herb I discovered, my knowledge grew, and so did my reputation. Soon enough, the settlement no longer whispered about the stranger—they came openly, bringing their sick, their injured, and their desperate.
And as my practice grew, so too did my resolve. In this world, I could become more than just a doctor. I could become a healer—a force of change, one plant at a time.