"Elara! Are you trying to kill us?!" Bram's voice, raw and irritated, echoed through the cottage. His face, weathered with deep lines around his kind, hazel eyes, was contorted in a cough. His sturdy frame, worn by years of working the land, was slumped against a shelf.
Elara, her fiery red hair pulled back in a practical braid that couldn't quite tame its rebellious strands, startled, dropped her book and raced toward the lab. Her face, framed by high cheekbones and a dusting of freckles across her nose, was usually alight with curiosity, but now her emerald eyes widened with concern as she burst through the door, coughing and sputtering. It was cloudy with pungent steam, stinging her eyes and filling her lungs with the overpowering scent of wormwood.
"Father!" she gasped, waving her hand in front of her face, trying to clear the air.
Bram was slumped against a shelf, his face red and contorted, coughing so hard he could barely speak. "The stove! The mixture! You never watch it!" he managed to choke out. "Turn it off, damn it!"
Elara's mind raced. She couldn't believe she'd been so careless. Ignoring her father's frantic cries, she rushed to the stove and turned the knob, shutting off the heat.
As the stove cooled, the steam began to dissipate, revealing the extent of the mess. Condensation coated every surface, and the air still hung heavy with the overpowering smell of herbs. Elara coughed, her lungs burning, but her attention was focused on her father.
Without hesitation, Elara wrapped her arms around him and helped him toward the door, supporting him as they stumbled into the fresh air outside.
She helped him sit down on a nearby bench, and he coughed, taking deep, ragged breaths, his color slowly returning.
As she knelt beside him, a wave of guilt washed over her. "I'm so sorry, Father," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I should have been more careful."
Bram sighed, his gaze softening slightly. "It's alright, Elara. But this isn't the first time, is it? How many times have you nearly gassed us trying to concoct some new potion?"
He shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Honestly, Elara, sometimes I think you're more likely to poison us all than to cure anyone. Why can't you be like other girls your age? They are painting the town red, going to dances, meeting their mate, getting married... Is that too much to ask?"
Elara's jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. "But these potions help people, Father. Mrs. Higgins' cough is gone, and Thomas's fever broke within hours. I'm making a difference."
He sighed. "I worry you may not find your mate, being so occupied with this. You might end up like Mr. Albert, he calls his inventions 'mate'!"
Elara's chin lifted, a playful glint in her eyes. "Then perhaps my medicines shall be my love."
"You remind me so much of your mother," Bram said wistfully, a smile gracing his lips. "She had that same fire in her eyes."
Elara gently took his hand. "I'm here so I can help her take care of you."
A relentless pounding echoed through the house, drawing Elara to the door. A young boy stood there, his face a mask of anxiety. "Please, Miss Elara, you have to come quick! Something's hurt in the woods."
"Gotta go!" Elara called back to her father. She rushed back inside, grabbed her satchel, and hurried out again, a mischievous grin on her face.
"Be careful out there," Bram called after her as she hurried away.
The boy led her into the woods until they reached a clearing. A werewolf lay there, its fur matted with blood. A deep gash ran along its flank, and a strange, black substance oozed from the wound. Elara knelt beside it, checking for a pulse. It was faint, but the werewolf was still alive.
As she hurried after Ben, a knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. A werewolf... injured like that, and still alive? What if it's something I've never seen before? What if it's contagious, something that could hurt Father? She pushed the thoughts aside, reminding herself of her training, her duty to help those in need. But a sliver of doubt remained, a cold whisper in the back of her mind.
Elara pulled on her mask and gloves. "Did you touch it?"
"No! It looked so helpless," the boy stammered.
"You're all coming with me for your own safety." Panic flared in their eyes.
"But why?"
"The werewolf might be carrying something contagious," Elara explained, her gaze unwavering. Terror dawned.
"We're going to die? I'm too young to die!" Ben questioned.
A slow smirk spread across Elara's face. "You think I'd let a werewolf beat you? Now, wipe your faces. We've got a werewolf disease to dissect."
Elara led the scared kids back to her cottage, the sick werewolf slung over her back. The cottage felt small and crowded with the children huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. Elara knelt beside them. "It's alright," she murmured, pulling out a handful of sugared plums. "My grandmother used to tell me stories about brave children who faced even scarier monsters than werewolves. Would you like to hear one?"
While Elara tended to the children, Bram hurried to send word to their families, assuring them that their children were safe and would be returned as soon as Elara determined they weren't at risk. He understood their fear, but he trusted his daughter's skills and knew she would do everything in her power to protect them.
Elara made medicine while her father peeked anxiously through the window, unable to come inside for fear of infection. He watched her every move, a deep furrow in his brow. There was something familiar about the werewolf's scent, a faint memory tugging at the edge of his mind, but he couldn't quite place it, which pack had the scent.
They ate Elara's stew, their eyes darting nervously at the werewolf.
They drank the medicine, grimacing.
As the day wore on, they started to help Elara, fetching water and tearing bandages, their fear slowly replaced by a nervous excitement. But as Elara cleaned up, she noticed a strange rash developing on her hands, a faint black tracing under her skin, she knew she needed treatment as well.