My mind wandered through a dozen thoughts as I held onto his hand. "Should I ask his name? Am I truly safe? Would he hurt me?" His pace matched mine as we walked past a few alcoves. I glanced up at him. His face was still partially hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, but I could see the sharp line of his jaw and the faint glint of something metallic at his belt—perhaps a sword. I tried to remain silent and continue the walk, but my curiosity got the better of me and I spoke, my voice hoarse from days of silence.
"Who are you?"
He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm and deliberate. "Someone who saw a life worth saving."
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I didn't know how to respond, so I remained silent, my mind still racing with questions.
After what felt like hours, he stopped near a small apothecary and turned to me. "I'm leaving you here. The herbalist will help you heal."
He turned to leave and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Wait!" I looked at the ground, my voice still a bit hoarse, "What do you mean 'leaving me here'? What am I supposed to do here?"
He paused, his back still to me. "You heal," he said simply. Then, without another word, he walked away, his cloak billowing behind him.
I stood there, watching his retreating figure. When he disappeared in the market, I shifted my gaze to the apothecary. For a moment, I just stood there dumbfounded. "Well... that's one way to leave," I murmured to myself.
I stepped forward, raising my hand to knock, but I hesitated. Why would he leave me like this? I had nowhere to go, so after moments of contemplating, I knocked, softly.
The door creaked open, and an elderly woman stepped out, her face lined with age but her eyes sharp and watchful. "How may I help you, dear?" She asked, her voice brisk yet gentle.
I fidgeted, occasionally glancing at the older woman. She seemed to have noticed my nervousness as she spoke, "It's alright, dear." She studied my appearance and smiled warmly, "Come inside. Let's get you all checked up."
My expression softened a bit, my nervousness faltered ever so slightly as I slowly made my way inside her small apothecary. The old woman picked a bundle of dried lavender, its scent instantly familiar and calming, and a few leaves from another jar. "Lavender and chamomile for your nerves," she explained as she ground them together in a small stone mortar. "It's not much, but it will help with the restlessness, the fatigue you're feeling."
She gestured me to sit, as she continued working. Reluctantly, I sat down on the arm chair which, without a doubt, felt a lot more comforting as compared to the floor I used to sit on. I remained silent, watching the way the woman's hands moved with precision and purpose. Each motion was deliberate and exact, speaking of years of practice and knowledge.
"Here," she said, taking the mixture and placing it into a cup of warm water. She handed it to me with a kind, but knowing smile. "Drink this. It will help."
I hesitated, but the warmth of the liquid and the scent of the herbs was oddly comforting. Without thinking, I took the cup, lifting it to my lips and sipping slowly. The herbal concoction was bitter at first, but then a soothing calm spread through my chest and limbs.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice a rasp.
The old woman smiled softly and nodded. She sat on the arm chair, parallel to me. We sat in silence for a few minutes before the woman started to speak, her voice filled with curiosity and gentleness, "What's your name, dear?"
"Elora," I spoke without much hesitation, my voice low and quiet.
"What a pretty name." The woman spoke in her usual kind tone. "You seem young," she added with slight intrigue.
"I don't recall my age."
"Is that so? Do you remember what happened?"
"I don't."
The lady nodded, her expression a mix of understanding and intrigue. "Where are you from?"
"I... don't know. All I know is that, I was in the market when I woke up."
"Could be amnesia, don't you think?"
"Probably," I spoke, agreeing with the old woman's thought. "I hope I regain my memory soon."
The old woman smiled, "Of course, hopefully." The woman paused, hesitating, before asking, "Do you have any place to live?"
I shook my head in denial, "No."
The old woman nodded, "Ah, so no place to go then? Then what will you do?"
"I-I don't know..." My voice a mixture of uncertainty and helplessness. I try to change the subject to get rid of the worry, "I- uh... What's your name? I didn't ask, did I?"
The woman chuckled, "No, you didn't. I'm Gertrude, but my friends used to call me Gertie."
"Ah, then shall I call you Miss Gertie?"
"No need for formalities. Just Gertie is fine."
"But, that feels a bit disrespectful..."
"Speak however you feel comfortable, dear," Miss Gertie smiled warmly.
The corner of my lips tugged into a small yet contented smile. Something about the way she spoke to me, the way she smiled at me, and the way she called me 'dear', made me somewhat happy.
Miss Gertie spoke, her voice was gentle yet firm; her expression unreadable. "Would you like to stay here?"
"W-What?" I stammered, caught off guard. My heart pounded at her sudden offer.