Harriet awoke that day feeling rejuvenated, as opposed to the previous day when she had agony all over her head. However, the cacophony reached her—a peculiar hum of voices, hurried footsteps, and the aroma of blood lingering in the air. Her heart pounded. "What's going on?" Harriet wondered to herself. She ripped off the sheets, her feet slamming onto the floor as she dashed to the door. The hallway was filled with activity. Pack warriors, maids, and healers moved quickly, their expressions stern.
"What's going on?" She inquired, grabbing the nearest person—a young maid whose face was pale with concern. The maid paused. "Luna…" she swallowed nervously, avoiding her sight. "The Alpha—he's been wounded." Harriet feels her heart tighten and becomes chilly, as if she has been plunged in the middle of a freezing ocean. Her grip tightened. "Wounded?" Her voice wavered. "Where is he?"
Harriet understood that worrying over someone she barely knew was out of the ordinary. But she is scared and afraid, and she is uncertain where all of those emotions are coming from, but she is certain that she does not want anything to happen to Alistair. Harriet asked her again, "Where is he?" when she noticed the maid was not answering her queries.
The maid continued to hesitate and did not respond, but Harriet did not wait. She pushed past her, following the fragrance of Alistair's blood. It brought her to the main hall, where a crowd had gathered in a close cluster. When she neared, they parted, displaying an image that made her breath catch. Alistair, the strong Alpha, who had been kissing her so passionately the day before, was on the floor, drenched in blood. A healer was pushing on a serious cut in his side, their hands covered with crimson. His ordinarily imposing presence was reduced to laborious breathing and a sheen of sweat on his brow.
The healers swiftly organized themselves and dragged him inside the healing chamber, his body lifeless and his respiration faint. The room swallowed him up as the wooden doors slammed shut, leaving only the muffled voices of the healers working feverishly inside.
Outside, Harriet remained motionless, her hands trembling as she grabbed the fabric of her robe. The Grand Luna stood alongside her, her face impassive, but the strain in her posture revealed the tempest within. Neither woman spoke, but both listened, hoping—praying—for any indication that he would survive. Minutes turned into hours. Servants and soldiers came and departed, their gaze darting to the closed doors before hurriedly turning away.
Then, the door creaked open. The head healer stepped out, his face lined with exhaustion and grief. The moment their eyes met his, the Grand Luna knew—her heart clenched painfully in her chest. "My Lady," the healer said to the grand Luna, his voice hoarse. "We have done all we can, but… his wounds are beyond our ability to mend. You must prepare yourselves."
A quick breath escaped the great Luna's throat, shattering the tough exterior she was wearing. She began to cry quietly, wondering whether she would have to bury her own son the same way she buried her husband. The great Luna pleaded with the healers, "Please do everything you can to save my son; I can't lose him too." Despite their sincere desire to help Alistair, the healers have exhausted every option in their toolbox, including all of the traditional cures they are aware of, but to no avail. The sound of Harriet's frantic voice was the only sound to break the tight silence.
Heads snapped toward her. Their faces flashed with disbelief. Because many believed she was just attempting to stir up trouble once more, some sneered and others turned away, unable to acknowledge her. "You?" A sneer came from one of the five great elders. "You think you know more than our healers?".
Grand Luna examined her daughter-in-law closely with her penetrating eyes, unsure whether to trust Harriet's assertion that she could save him or to dismiss it as a hoax. Harriet stepped forward, her hands shaking but her voice calm, when she noticed the great Luna's hesitation. "I am aware of what I am requesting you to accept. I am aware of your opinions of me. But I promise that I can save him with my life. Desperation and determination blazed in her eyes as she turned to face the Grand Luna. "I know you've never trusted me, Mother, but please do so now. This is what I'm wagering my life on."
The Grand Luna's lips pulled into a thin line, her sharp glance scanning her daughter-in-law's face, but when she saw Harriet's determination and assurance, she said, to everyone's surprise,. "Then do it," the Grand Luna said, silencing the complaints before they could begin. "Because I prefer you do something rather than doing nothing at all and watching my son die, but if you fail, Harriet, I will be the one to take your life."
Harriet took a deep breath and followed the healers into the healing chamber. With no time to waste, Harriet swiftly instructed, "Place him on a cold sheet," her voice firm despite the panic rising in her chest. The healers paused only briefly before obeying, their hands working rapidly to remove the soaked sheets from beneath him and replace them with crisp, cooled fabric.
Then She turned to the main healer. "Boil the lemongrass, ginger, basil, turmeric, and mint. Make a strong brew and serve it to him while it is still warm." One of the younger healers paused. "Shouldn't we wait, Luna?" The Alpha's body—" She gave him a harsh glance. "Do as I say.". The authority in her voice left no space for debate. Within moments, the aroma of boiling herbs permeated the chamber, a blend of spicy spice and relaxing mint floating through the air. When the tea was ready, the healers delivered a steaming cup to her. She took it slowly, testing the heat before swallowing, then forced it down Alistair's throat because he is unable to drink it himself.
She addressed the healers, her voice calm but strong. She told them she needed yarrow, a plant that stops bleeding, and she explained how the plant appeared to the healers before instructing them to "grind the yarrow into a fine paste." "We need it thick enough to properly coat the wound." The healers nodded and moved quickly to the table, which was covered in fresh yarrow leaves and flowers. One crushed the plant with a stone mortar, the repetitive grinding adding to the silent tension in the room. Eventually, the pale green paste was ready.
Harriet took a clean cloth, dipped it in a basin of fresh water, and applied it to the wound. She carefully washed away the blood to ensure the wound was as clean as possible. Once she was pleased, she used her fingers to gently but thoroughly apply the prepared yarrow paste over the various gashes on Alistair's body. The herbal combination adhered to the injured area, halting the bleeding almost instantly.