David and Niala's breakfast was interrupted by a knock at the door. They found Karline out in the morning's sun when they answered.

  “Oh, huh, hi guys.” She greeted, fidgeting with her fingers. “I... Niala, please sell me some...” She grimaced. “Old woman.”

  Niala's brow furrowed, while David's mouth turned into an ear-to-ear knowing smile.

  “Huh, sure, but I'll need to make them first...” She looked back towards their kitchen, back to Karline. “You know what, just come on in, David hasn't had his second cup yet, you can have it.”

  David's smile plummeted. “Wait.”

  Karline let out a contented grunt. “Oh, that would be amazing! Please!”

  Niala smiled and led her in.

  “Niala, wait.” David intoned, ignored by both women.

  “No, wait, Niala, not my second cup.” He said, starting after them.

  As he watched a crime against his person perpetrated in front of him, Karline sipping his second cup of old woman with a satisfied smile, some of his brain cells activated.

  COUGH

  He turned to Niala. “Dear, the old woman packets, the weeds you use to make them, are they hard to find?”

  She glared at him. “Not weeds. Yes, the ones I use are pretty common. Why?”

  “Hmmm. Do you have plenty of empty tea bags to make more bundles?”

  “A few. Why?” She asked again.

  “And, how much does it cost to make, say if you had to buy everything?”

  She frowned, calculating in her head. “Buying everything, if I get a wholesale rebate for big purchases, I think four or five bits per dose? Again, why?” She asked once more with some irritation.

  He nodded, scarfed down the last of his breakfast, pushed back his chair, deposited his plate in the sink, and made for the exit, speaking with half a mouthful as he passed by her. “Going into town, I'll be back.”

  COUGH

  She watched him leave, her tail swishing, slightly concerned that his cough had returned and didn't seem to abate.

  She sighed and began chatting with Karline.

  Burton, the burly innkeeper of the Boot Inn, spun the little herb packets in his hands, frowning. He spoke with a deep, greasy voice.

  “You tellin' me, I boil these, and I offer it as a morning drink?”

  COUGH

  David nodded. “That's right. Roiling boil for the big packet, then boil two minutes, then add the small packet and boil another minute. Make sure whoever tries it takes at least two sips. It's important.”

  Burton narrowed his eyes at the man. “Are you trying to poison my customers, lad?”

  David shook his head. “Not at all. I'm opening a door to riches and fame for you. Here, take these.” He handled the innkeeper twenty sets of Old Woman packets.

  “If you want proof, pick any of those and make me a serving, I'll drink it in front of you. Make one for yourself at the same time?” He offered.

  Suspicious, the man nonetheless did as David said. Who could say no to riches and fame? In business, some risks were necessary...

  Both men soon had a steaming old woman in hand. David breathed in its prickly fumes as he took his first sip, letting the bitter warmth coat his mouth and throat.

  Burton sniffed his cup, wet his lips with the liquid, and grimaced instantly.

  “Blerch! This is vile!” He said, holding out the cup away from him.

  “Two sips. You'll see.”

  “I'm not drinking this!” The innkeeper declared.

  “Two sips. If you still don't want it after, I'll give you a prince.”

  Burton's eyes shone with the glint of money, then the sight, and memory, of the steaming old woman pulled down at his features.

  He closed his eyes, thinking of the thousand-bit coin, and forced himself to take a second, tiny sip.

  His eyelids popped open.

  Wide-eyed, he stared at the old woman, then up at David.

  “You have acquired the taste.” He pontificated, smiling.

  Burton swallowed.

  COUGH

  David's cough worsened to the point where Niala made him drink a soothing potion that night, mellowing out his throat and allowing him to sleep soundly.

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  It came back in the morning, but subdued enough that he didn't feel otherwise bothered. He kept insisting that he didn't feel sick, rather that his lungs and throat felt raspy. Nothing some fresh air wouldn't help with.

  They spent that morning working on Niala's herb garden, expanding it by several square meters. Niala made the happy discovery that several rather rare herbs had grown around the large tree's roots. They were a bit strange, and seemed to faintly sparkle under certain angles, but appeared otherwise healthy and perfectly safe. They were transplanted into her garden, with some light fabric overhead to keep the plants from burning under the high summer sun.

  At David's dogged insistence, Niala also stocked up on the herbs needed to make his old woman brew, going into town and placing large orders for them, as well as dedicating a portion of her garden for their cultivation.

  She thought he was being a bit obsessive; she was under no threat of running out any time soon, but they didn't cost much at all, and it made him happy, so she obliged earnestly.

  They spent part of the afternoon preparing old woman packets, and took inventory of Niala's stock for the rest of the day, in preparation for her new grand opening five days from now, on the 40th of Summer.

  That night, David's cough returned in force. A soothing potion let him find sleep once more.

  David woke up hacking, his breath heavy and wheezing. He again insisted that he was just a bit under the weather and that he was fine.

  Niala forced-marched him to Healer Cassandra's clinic.

  The older catkin healer pressed her auralscope against David's chest, with Niala waiting in the corner of the examination room, gripping her hands, ears flat.

  “Breathe in and out, deeply, until I tell you to stop,” Cassandra told him.

  He did so, a deep cough interrupting him at almost every breath.

  The healer frowned. “You can stop.”

  She picked up a pad and jotted down some notes before getting up and retrieving a case of small parchment strips and three small bottles filled with clear liquids. She picked up one of the strips with a long pair of tweezers.

  “Breath through your mouth. Keep it open, and try not to gag.” She instructed.

  As David opened his mouth, she put the slip deep into his mouth and held it there for half a minute, David coughing a few times during the wait.

  Pulling back, she took a pipette and wet the parchment with a drop from each of the small bottles.

  The piece of parchment turned aqua-blue after the third drop.

  Niala spotted the shadow of a grimace on the Healer's face.

  Cassandra removed her silk gloves and filtering mask, thanking David and asking him to wait as she motioned for Niala to follow her outside the room, closing the door behind them.

  Niala's concern pulled at her features, her hands anxiously fidgeting. She looked at the healer, waiting for her to speak.

  The older catkin sighed.

  “There's no easy way to say this, but your boyfriend is going to die.”

  She heard the words, but they didn't want to form a full sentence in her head.

  “...what?”

  Cassandra laid a compassionate hand on Niala's shoulder.

  “It's a disease that some unlucky adventurers come back with after venturing out into ruins. We call it the fungal lungs. We don't know of a cure.” She explained.

  “Wait. Wait wait wait wait. What about a panacea?” Niala blurted.

  The healer shook her head. “As far as we know, that can work if administered within a few bells of the infection. The stronger the panacea, the longer the window, but from what you told me, he came back at least five days ago.” She said with sad eyes.

  Niala's mouth opened, lips trembling. She moved away from the healer's hand and paced anxiously, deep in thought, before retrieving her ever-present notebook and walking right up to Cassandra's face.

  “I need details. Everything about the disease. What causes it, the symptoms, the onset, whatever treatment that has any effect on it, and...” She swallowed. “How it kills.”

  Cassandra blew a small breath. She'd seen this before, the refusal to accept. The disease was uncommon, but frequent enough that the town had tried everything; At best, they were able to prolong the patient's life by a few days, maybe a week.

  She looked at the smaller catkin woman, her face filled with determination, her ears at top mast.

  It's cruel, to try and give her hope...

  The healer answered all her questions, nonetheless.

  The healer explained everything, including the rather gruesome end that awaited the poor souls.

  The disease was named after its source: a fungal infection of the lungs. Mushrooms quite literally grew inside the warm, moist confines of a patient's lungs, filling them and releasing spores into the bloodstream.

  Near the end, the skin would discolour, a thin layer of mushrooms growing just under the dermis. Within a day or two at most, these mushrooms pierced through the skin and leached the body's nutrients to form a new fungal colony. No amount of harvesting said mushrooms ever saved the victim, only prolonging their suffering; the ones that grew within the lungs simply kept releasing new spores.

  All manner of treatments had been attempted to excise this tumour-like affliction, but nothing ever held; the fungus seemed able to sprout back from anything.

  What's more, the mushrooms that sprang from a victim's body would release infection spores if disturbed.

  Hence, on their final days, when the deadly fungus began sprouting up through their skin, the victims would be given anaesthesia and entombed in a stack of wood, and burned to death.

  It was the only way to contain the infection.

  With Niala barely holding back her tears through a mask of anger, Cassandra announced to David his coming demise.

  COUGH

  “Oh.” He had simply said.

  He looked at Niala.

  He'd already failed his vows to her.

  They walked back home, David's coughing the only thing breaking the silence between them.

  She forced him back to bed and had him drink all of the anti-fungal potions, healing, revitalizing, and immune-boosting potions she had. She made incense out of fungicide herbs and had it fill the bedroom with its smoke.

  She set out and found Karline, demanding she tell her the quickest way to get a letter all the way to Majestic. Price didn't matter.

  The woman replied that the free couriers had their own personal network of messenger avian golems and that, for the right price, the closest waystation would send one on a direct route with no stops. A letter would reach Majestic in two days at most.

  Niala ordered her to go set up the delivery at the posting board in town, telling her she'd pay whatever was needed, as long as it got there as quickly as possible, and rushed back home to write a letter to a person she wasn't ready to talk to yet, but had to.

  Dear father,

  Your runaway daughter, Niala, writes to you in her time of need. I had not intended to contact you again so soon. My mind and feelings have not yet settled, have not yet had time to process the shame I left our home with.

  I have wished to apologize for the longest time, but never found the will to do so, weighed down as I am by my own failures to our family.

  One day, I will attempt to make amends, find the words I need to express myself properly, that I swear upon my honour as the daughter of the All Brew, but not today, not with this letter.

  Today I write to you, in despair, for someone very close and dear to me has fallen ill with a disease I am told has no cure.

  I remember well what you told me: No disease is incurable; either the knowledge has yet to reach the healer's ears, or the cure has yet to be discovered.

  I pray to all the Saints that the knowledge has simply not reached my corner of the world.

  You will find attached to this letter all of my notes on the disease, what the locals call it, its symptoms and effects, and the resulting death.

  Please, Father, find it in your heart to help this pitiful daughter of yours, who is unable to yet apologize for her actions, and dares to beg you for your support nonetheless.

  I will do anything you ask of me. Help me cure this person, and I will listen to and obey any request, even returning home at my earliest, should that be your wish.

  Your pleading, far away, but ever-loving daughter,

  Niala

  again.