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Summary
Byleth made her way towards the kitchens. The piece of cloth Mercedes had given to her five years prior clinging to her hand. Over time, she had learned to memorise the remedy—chamomile flowers to soothe the pain and tranquillise the body, hot boiled water to keep the warmth. Such were the words she repeated to herself like a hymn, such were the words that kept her calm amidst the winter.
The bags of chamomile she had carried fell to the floor in a swift motion, her hands hovering all over the place as she attempted to stand still between the pain. She knew she should have gone to visit Mercedes—or Manuela who was as knowledgeable to remedies, but the fresh memory of her last conversation with Dimitri kept her head from making favourable decisions.
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