The morning after the naming carried a strange lightness through the town, people trading Ash's name in the street like they had each been handed a small share of it.
Vella's clinic had a line out the door before the dew burned off, and for once most of it was not emergencies. Two families had walked in from an outer village on the strength of a rumor about a healer who fixed the regional fever, standing in line with the patience of people who had walked two days for a maybe.
A farmer near the front flinched when Vella's violet hair caught the light, then bowed so deep his hat fell off when she healed his daughter's infected hand anyway.
She watched him scramble after the hat, and Hajin watched her decide, visibly, that being feared a little was an acceptable tax on being needed a lot.
