Chapter 5: The Mysterious Cabin
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"You have quite the library," I commented when he returned with a first aid kit and what looked like a bundle of herbs.
"Books don't ask intrusive questions," he replied, kneeling before me to examine my ankle.
I smiled despite myself. "Unlike botanical researchers who trespass on your land?"
He didn't respond, his touch surprisingly gentle as he carefully rotated my foot, checking for serious damage. "It's not broken, just a bad sprain."
I watched him work, fascinated by the contradiction he presented. Everything about his appearance suggested wildness—his untamed hair, the way he moved with animal grace—yet his hands were treating my injury with the precision of a trained medic.
"Where did you learn first aid?" I asked.
"When you live in the forest, you learn to take care of injuries," he answered vaguely.
"And the herbs?" I nodded toward the bundle he'd brought.
"Old family remedies."
I leaned forward, my scientific curiosity piqued. "May I?" I asked, reaching for the herbs.
He hesitated, then handed them to me. I recognized some immediately—arnica for bruising, willow bark for pain—but others were unfamiliar. I brought one to my nose, inhaling its unique scent.
"This isn't native to this region," I said, surprised. "It smells like a relative of Aconitum, but different somehow."
He took the herb back quickly. "You know your plants."
"It's my job," I reminded him. "But I've never seen this variety before. Is it rare?"
"Very." He began crushing the herbs in a small wooden bowl, adding a few drops of what looked like honey. "This will help with the pain and swelling."
As he worked, I studied his face. In the warm light of the cabin, his features seemed less harsh than they had in the forest. There was a story behind those eyes—something ancient and perhaps painful.
"You know," I said carefully, "it would be easier to have a conversation if I knew what to call you."
His hands paused momentarily, but he didn't look up. "You don't need to know my name. You won't be here long enough for it to matter."
"I think saving someone's life warrants at least an introduction," I pressed gently.
