The boy—his name was Tam, Marron learned—slept through the first poultice change.
His mother stayed close, never moving more than a few feet from his bedside, her hand resting on his shoulder like she could anchor him to life through touch alone. Marron worked quietly, carefully removing the old poultice and applying fresh mixture, following the Champion's instructions exactly.
The wound looked better. Still angry and swollen, but the dark lines had stopped spreading. The venom was being drawn out, pulled by honey and clay and careful intention into something that could be removed rather than left to poison from within.
By the time Marron finished the third and final application—four hours after the Champion had left—Tam was awake and asking for water in a weak but steady voice.
His mother cried again, this time from relief.
