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~Fridolf's POV
I limped back to the hut, my foot dragging on the wet grass, just to perfect my act as an old man. It was getting more fun.
I leaned against the wooden wall, closing my eyes for a moment. "Think, Fridolf… think. You can't die here. Not now. Not yet."
I opened my eyes and looked around the hut. Broken jars, dried herbs, and piles of old papers littered the floor. The smell of something earthy and bitter hit me. I looked through his place, and that's how I got my hands on his journal. Maybe it had something useful.
I looked through it, and it contained various herbs and their uses.
"Good… good…" I whispered to myself. "If I can just find the right one… this wound…" My hand traced the page that described a herb to stop bleeding and ease pain.
