Balthazar watched as yet another adventurer walked away from his trading post with their gold payment. One more that had e by a with no information on the flower the crab sought.

  He looked down at the piece of paper the orcs had left him, a charcoal drawing of a flower made on it, and on the back the instrus on how to add it to the prepared co the shaman had left in a vial before departing.

  “Why did it have to be such a hard to find flower? Couldn’t it just have been some ushroom that grows anywhere?” Balthazar pio himself.

  “Is this a bad time?” said a girl’s voice from the entrance of the trading post.

  The mert turo meet the new arrival roached in a white dress and apron, with a basket in each hand.

  “Oh. Madeleine. I didn’t expect you here today,” said the surprised crab.

  Her face seemed less bright than usual, somewhat somber and ed, but making an effort to not let it show. Balthazar wondered if she already knew about Druma, but that made little seo him, as he had been spreading the word to advehat he was seeking a specific flower, but he made sure to keep the part about it being for a sick goblin to himself, in case some adventurers felt less ined to help find it if they khat detail.

  He suspected something else was troubling her.

  “Hey, Balthazar,” she said, with a weak attempt at a smile. “I had these fresh brioches for you and decided to e down here myself to deliver them and hopefully get a ce to talk to you.”

  “That’s great. Fresh baked pastries always improve my mood. Are you alright, though? You look like someo your cake batter terclockwise.”

  “I’m fine. Sort of. That’s what I came dowo talk to you about,” the baker said, still holding both baskets in her hands. “ I put these down somewhere? I alsht some meat treats for Druma. He’s usually so quie and take the baskets off my hands. Where is he? Busy with some other project of yours?”

  As she finished her question, her searg eyes nded oher side of the pond, where the rge figure of the golem sat over the goblin’s bed of hay. Her eyebrows rose as she saw the se.

  “Oh, gods,” she said, on her fao longer disguised, “Balthazar, did something happen to Druma?”

  “Yes, I was trying to find the best way to get to that,” the crab awkwardly admitted. Breaking bad news always felt a lot easier when he did not have to care about the recipient.

  Madelei both baskets down on the floor and quickly made her way across the bridge, with Balthazar hurriedly following.

  She k dowo him and pced her hand on the unscious goblin’s forehead. “He’s burning up, Balthazar. What in the world happened?”

  “A wolf bit him on his leg,” the crab expined. “I was out on the road when a pack of feral wolves showed up and surrounded me. Druma and Bouldy showed up just in time to help, but in the chaos one of them got to Druma and sank its fangs into him. Damn wound must have ied and now he’s like this.”

  “My gods,” the girl said, c her mouth with both hands. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you too?”

  “No, they didn’t, but it was a damn close call. One of them was this close to my face, but…” Balthazar’s words trailed off as he looked at the weak breathing of his friend on the bed a foolish once again. “But I’m fine, really. Druma’s the one who really got it worse.”

  “I thought what you said to the taxman about the wolves around the area was you making stuff up,” said the baker. “I had no idea that was a real threat.”

  So did Balthazar. He had never seen wolves anywhere near his pond before that day. The ce of them showing up soon after he made that story up still bugged him, but he just couldn’t find the energy to give it any more thought with everything else happening. Perhaps it really was just a ce, but it still felt like there had already been a few too many of those retly.

  He quietly watched as the girl took the piece of cloth that was on a nearby stool and dipped it in the bucket of water o the haystack befently pressing it over the goblin’s head. He shivered, but his eyes remained closed.

  Finally, she spoke again. “We ’t just leave him like this. Is there not some kind of potion you could give him?”

  “I did,” the crab responded. “Health potions don’t seem to have an effect, because he has some kind of rare disease, and he ’t heal until it’s cured. I’ve had… someoake a look at him, and she gave me the cure, but it’s missing a rare ingredient, so I’ve been trying to get one of these airhead adve it to me, but with no success so far.”

  “Curses. And Rye will be away from town for a few days, so I ’t even ask him to help either,” the girl said, while pulling the stool closer and sittio the bed. “Maybe I could visit the apothecary in town and ask if they have this ingredient. What is it anyway?”

  “It’s a rare flower called frostshade that apparently only blooms one day a year between winter and spring,” Balthazar answered. “And don’t bother. One of my regur ts already checked the apothecary and told me they had nothing like it. My only hope is that someo there still has some dried out petals of it stored somewhere. Between so many adventurers alig every flower and mushroom they e across, there has to be at least ohat has picked up this flower before.”

  “Ugh,” she said, still looking down at Druma. “Just please be careful who you make deals with, alright?”

  “I’m always careful when it es to making deals, but why do you say that?”

  “There’s always those out there willing to sell the promise of a miracle to those in desperate need,” Madeleine responded, her voice gaining a bitter hint to it. “Healers, alchemists… witches.”

  “Hmm,” the relut crab started. “Sounds like you speak from experience. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “It’s nothing… I just really don’t like any kind of witches.”

  “I get it. Witches aren’t to be trusted, sure. I still remember how it went with that woma, and your rea to her, but there seems to be more to it than what you’re telling me.”

  Madeleine sighed as she turhe cloth on Druma’s head over.

  “I… I just have really bad memories about witches,” she slowly admitted.

  “Oh,” the crab said.

  Balthazar was not too keen on shariions, aainly not very good at it either, so his immediate instinct was to ge the subject or skitter away to go eat a brioche, but another, albeit smaller, part of him looked at his two friends, each troubled in their own ways, and pelled him to stop being a cold-hearted crusta and stay.

  He did not go head-to-head with a taxman just to back down on a heart-to-heart with a baker now.

  “Did… did something happen in the past?”

  The girl let out a long sigh before finding her words.

  “It was back when my mom was still alive,” she fessed, her eyes still stariily at the goblin. “It was whearted getting sio one could figure out what she had, and nothing made her get better. Until one day a woman showed up, told her she knew what her ailment was, and promised she could cure her, for a price, of course.”

  “She was a witch, I take it?”

  “Yes. An old woman with white hair and f words, like some nid trustworthy granny. I didn’t fully uand it back then. I was too young. She had my mom ed around her finger in no time. Whatever money we made, she would spend with the woman, for treatments and cures that never really fixed her, just made her feel better for long enough to keep going baore. Meanwhile, u all, my mom was only getting worse, but she wouldn’t see it. That… witch blinded her to everything. She even used me in her manipution, making my mom think of what would happen to me without a mother, pulling at her heartstrings, all to keep her paying with everything she made.”

  Madeleine paused, her gaze still down on the goblin as she gently wiped his forehead with the wet cloth, but her thoughts clearly far away.

  “Until one day she got too ill to get up from bed,” the baker said with a shaky deep breath. “And all she asked for was to see the woman, still vinced she was the only one who could save her. That’s how bewitched she was. And of course, ohe money ran out and my mom was too sick to get up and work, the witch was gone, o be found, after having taken all she could from us and dohing to cure my mother.”

  Balthazar opened his mouth to speak, but he could not find anything suitable to say. He could already guess what had happened after.

  “So yes, it's true,” the teary-eyed girl said, bringing her gaze back to the crab as she wiped her eyes on the back of her hands. “I don’t really trust or like witches. I know what they are, what they do, and I ’t stand the idea of ever seeing someone I care about falling for their poisoned words again. It makes my blood boil.”

  Looking back at the ground, Balthazar thought baadeleine’s outburst on the day a witch had visited his trading post. He remembered how upset she was, and how a her rea he also was. Once more, the crab felt foolish. He always pined about others, but he hought to ask either.

  “I’m sorry,” Balthazar said in a quiet voice.

  “It’s not your fault,” she resporying to force a smile. “Gods, look at me weeping at my own troubles while poor Druma is lying over here sick. That’s so selfish of me.”

  “No, it’s alright, I’m the one who asked,” Balthazar said. “It’s not like you do much for him right now. Not unless you have some petals of frostshade hiding in your kit between your herbs and spices.”

  “Hah, no, I’m afraid not, unfortunately,” the baker said, through her sad smile. “What I do is get back to toester everyone who will listen about this flower until we find someone who has seen it before.”

  She stood up from the stool and turo the golem behind the bed.

  “I’ll go now, but you keep on watg over our friend, alright, Bouldy? I’m ting on you, big guy.”

  The stone giant gave her a gentle smile and an affirmative nod. “Friend.”

  She took a few steps around the stack of hay and approached Blue’s cushion, who quickly lifted her head and began waggiail.

  “And don’t think I fot about you, girl,” Madeleiold her, while giving the drake a scratch behind the ears. “You keep on being a good girl and proteg our little guys, alright?”

  Balthazar did his best to suppress a scoff at the mention of Blue being a good girl.

  “Especially against any witches,” she added, whispering closer to the drake’s ear. “If you ever see one, you give them a good scorg for me, alright?”

  “What was it you came dowo talk to me about anyway?” the crab asked.

  “Oh. It’s… nothing important,” she said, as she made her way back to the bridge. “We talk about it some other time.”

  H0st